


Birds of a Feather

by AlisonSky



Series: Lone Hawk of Gotham [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Mockingbird (Comic), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Amnesiac Dick Grayson, Assassin Clint Barton, Bat Burger (DCU), Bisexual Clint Barton, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Cereal Lover Dick Grayson, Circus Bros - Freeform, Circus Performer Clint Barton, Circus Performer Dick Grayson, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton does not sleep in cabs, Court of Owls, CrossFit Instructor Clint Barton, Crossover, Deaf Clint Barton, Dick Grayson Has Panic Attacks, Dick Grayson and Clint Barton together means TROUBLE, Dick Grayson is Ric Grayson, F/M, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Oracle is so Done with the Robins' Bullshit, Past Child Abuse, Past Clint Barton/Bobbi Morse, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon: MCU, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Clint Barton, Punch Scarecrow in the face, SHIELD, SHIELD Agent Clint Barton, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Worried Batfamily (DCU), jason Todd is a good bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlisonSky/pseuds/AlisonSky
Summary: Clint Barton was a member of the Circus of Crime at the age of 8. Each winter, their circus bunked down in Florida next to Haly's. When a young Dick Grayson runs across him, it starts a friendship that extends long past their childhood and assorted occupational hazards.But when Dick Grayson gets shot in the head, he leaves the Batfamily behind to find out who Ric Grayson could be. The Wayne brothers don't take that well, especially after Batman tells them to stay away from Ric. Tim and Jason have a plan, but they need a different one of Dick's "brothers" to help make sure Ric is protected from the past, and doesn't have to walk this new road alone.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Clint Barton, Bea Bennett/Dick Grayson, Clint Barton & Bobbi Morse, Clint Barton & Dick Grayson, Clint Barton & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Series: Lone Hawk of Gotham [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664209
Comments: 77
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, long time reader, first time actually putting up a fic. I've always been a fan of Dick and Clint, and after reading NIghtwing #50 2 weeks ago (I'm in grad school and way behind on my pull list), this idea popped into my head. No idea how long it'll go.
> 
> Clint's only 26 in this and had been with SHIELD for 5 years. The story take place before Natasha enters his life, so Dick is the only family Clint really has.

The buzzing of the cell phone pulled Clint Barton out of a dead sleep. He sat up in bed, grasping a knife from under his pillow as he scanned the room. When his foggy brain caught up with his body, he realized the cause of the rousing. He grabbed his left hearing aid off the nightstand and activated the blue tooth to answer the phone.

“Barton here.” He stifled a yawn with a hand, then reached for the other hearing aid.

“The same Clint Barton that went by The Amazing Hawkeye?” The voice on the other end was deep, not artificial, but muffled as if something was between the lips and the phone.

Clint snatched up his phone and looked at the caller ID. It was a blocked number. “Who is this?” He spoke in an even tone as he opened the tracking app on the phone to find where the call was coming from.

“A brother of your old friend.”

“I don’t have friends.” It was true. Six years into his tenure at S.H.I.E.L.D. and except for his handler, Coulson, no one ever asked Clint to join them for a beer after work. Spending a good amount of time across the world hunting down and killing marks had a negative effect on creating a normal social life.

“Yes you do. The boy on the flying trapeze.”

Cold fear gripped his heart. He checked the trace: Gotham City. “Grayson.”

“Got it in one.”

Why would someone be calling him about Richard Grayson? He hadn’t seen his childhood friend for the last five years—the only way to protect his idiot vigilante of a best friend from getting outed to Clint’s boss. In fact, Richard wouldn’t have any current contact information for Clint. 

“How did you get this number?”

The voice on the other line laughed. “I have a nerdy little brother who’s too smart for his own good.” A muffled cry of protest followed. “Anyway, easier to explain in person. How far are you from the city?”

Clint turned on his bedroom light, hissing at the sudden brightness. He reached for the StarkPad on the desk that was pressed up against the foot of his bed. Connecting it to the helicarrier’s system, he checked their coordinates. “A few hours.”

“Can you be here by midnight?”

“Man, I just got back a few hours ago. I haven’t slept in three days.”

The voice was silent a moment, and the cold grip tightened. 

“Grayson’s been hurt.”

Clint closed his eyes. He could hear the complexity of the other man’s emotions. Frustration, desperation, fear, and weariness. This call wasn’t a ploy—it was a call for help.

“Give me a number I can call back, and I’ll text you my ETA.”

Clint wrote down the series of numbers, then hung up. He pressed his palms into his eyes, rubbing the last remnants of sleep away. He was going to need a lot of coffee for this.

“I’ve worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. for six years, never once asking for time off or a vacation. You have to put this through.”

Clint stood at attention in front of Phil Coulson’s desk. His handler—the third since his joining S.H.I.E.L.D.—was leaning back in the ergonomic chair, fingers entwined and resting on his stomach. The gray suit blended into the metal walls that made up Coulson’s cubicle of an office. Clint knew the pose: Coulson was trying to find the secret behind Clint’s sudden request for leave.

“You’ve listed the reason as a family emergency.” Coulson pushed himself up and pointed at the form. “If my memory is correct, you don’t have a family anymore.”

“Technically I have a brother.”

“Who we have on surveillance and you’ve offered to take him out if needed.”

Clint shrugged. “Still counts as family.”

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Barton… Clint. I can’t approve this unless you tell me what it’s about. You need to trust me or else this relationship isn’t going to work. I don’t think Fury wants to deal with finding another handler for you.”

Licking his lips, Clint considered the choices. He could stay quiet, not get the leave, quit, and looking over his shoulder the rest of his life waiting for S.H.I.E.L.D. to find him. Or he could trust Coulson not to give up Clint's only real personal tie to the world and hopefully get the leave.

“Back when I was a roustabout with the Circus of Crime, we used to barn down south for the winter. A lot of troupes did. Catch up with friends, practice new acts, have a life away from the rubes for awhile. That first year… being a deaf gaucho meant the other kids kept their distance. Then this flyer comes along and he goes and tells me a joke.”

“Sounds like someone I know.” Coulson gave a hint of a smile.

“His jokes are horrible. But he was the only kinker willing to be my friend. Every year at Winter Quarters, we’d pal around. His folks kept me watered and fed. When I trained with the Swordsman and Trickshot, he’d watch me show off later. I taught him how to aim, and he taught me acrobatics.”

“That’s where you learned it.” Coulson laughed. 

Clint smiled. “Anyway, we hit twelve, and his parents get killed in a show. He gets adopted by some rich guy and doesn’t show up that winter until Christmas. Only stays two weeks, but we keep in touch. Call him when I get a few quarters while working a week stand. Keep that up a few years, then Barney happens.”

“Alright, so that’s up until you’re sixteen. You see him again after that?”

“Yeah. Gotta lay low after every few jobs to throw off the scent. Freelance assassins still need their vacations after all.” Clint smirked. “Usually dropped in for a spell. Caught up, did a bit of training. When Fury caught me, got me this gig, I stopped. Didn’t want to bring S.H.I.E.L.D. down on his doorstep.”

Coulson nodded, leaning back again. “I take it this is the guy you want the leave to visit.”

“He’s like a brother to me, sir. Only family I have left. This morning I got a call from one of his brothers saying he’s hurt and needs me.” Clint tilted his head up. “I’m going to him, Coulson. It just depends on whether it’s on leave or I go AWOL. I'd prefer the first since I actually like this job.”

“You know, stating that you’re going AWOL is never a good idea.”

“Just giving you fair warning, sir.”

Sighing, Coulson reached over to grab a pen and signed the form on his desk. “You need a drop-off?”

“Yeah, and an unmarked cycle without a tracker.”

“You know the rules. All equipment has trackers in case you get in trouble.”

“Please, sir. I promise I’ll call in every afternoon. I don’t know the rest of his new family, and if you guys hover around me, they won’t trust me to help.”

“You’re asking a lot here, Agent Barton.”

“I know, and I think I’ve earned it.” Clint smirked. “Trust goes both ways.”

Coulson laughed. “Touché. I’ll have a jet and cycle ready for you in an hour. But you miss a call or don’t answer mine, I’ll send in a retrieval team to bring you home.”

“Understood, sir.” Clint saluted and headed out to pack.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint meets the rest of Dick's brothers - but not all for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This issue coincides with DC Rebirth Nightwing Issue #50 and Annual #2. It's a bit long, but the exposition has to go somewhere.

The rooftop Jason Todd had chosen for the meet-up reminded him of all the times Dick and he spent talking. It was their secret spot: the shadow right beneath his favorite gargoyle. Most of the time they vented about Batman and his lack of parenting skills. Lately, it had been about Jason struggling to find the balance between villain and anti-hero.

_“Kori and Roy are rubbing off on you,” Dick stated a few years ago, passing Jason a hotdog he had grabbed on the way over._

_“Don’t tell Roy that, or it’ll go to his head.” Removing the helmet, Jason attached it to his belt, then grabbed the food. “But yeah, them, Artemis, Bizarro… they all remind me to load the rubber bullets and not to snap necks.”_

_“Good reminders.” Dick bit into the dog, not caring about the ketchup and mustard that remained on his face. “I’m proud of you, you know.”_

_Jason snorted. “And why’s that?”_

_“Because you’re trying. You don’t have to give up the thug life, but you’re choosing to. It’s a big step.”_

_“I don’t need to be drawing the wrong attention on me. I mean, Lian stays with us. Can’t put a target on a toddler.” Jason turned to see Dick staring at him, a smile on his face. “What?”_

_“Little Wing is all grown up.” Dick reached over to ruffle Jason’s hair, which Jason quickly ducked away from._

_“Yeah yeah.” Jason took a bite from his hotdog, thinking as he looked over Gotham. “And maybe, JUST maybe, I’m also doing it for you.”_

_He snuck a look at Dick, and saw his older brother was still smiling, eyes closed. Jason could feel the joy radiating off Dick, and it brought a smile to his face as well._

_“Just don’t tell the others,” Jason added, bumping his arm against Dick’s._

The city looked darker tonight. Colder. It had felt that way since Nightwing took that bullet to the head, but tonight Jason was chilled to the bone. The joy was gone—not that Gotham had a lot of joy—but Dick always made the job easier. Relaxing, in some strange way, with his quips and graceful movements.

Hope was supposed to return when Dick opened his eyes. Instead, it was a blank slate. Every memory, from the moment he stepped into Gotham City as a 12-year-old orphan to that fateful night on the GCPD rooftop, gone. His time as Robin. Nightwing. Brother. All lost in the recesses of Dick’s—no, it was Ric now—broken brain.

Jason wasn’t big on emotions. Technically, that wasn’t true; he was very intimate with anger, frustration, and pain. Happiness was rare, but he’d felt it more and more the last few years. But sorrow—he didn’t know how to process it beyond ignoring it and funneling his energy into punching people in the face.

The first being Batman.

Well, that was a constant desire so it probably didn’t count.

The drug lords in Gotham ended up taking the brunt of it. He had a reputation in the city, and while the drug-running business was self-sustaining, there were always creeps trying to start their own gang and using teenagers as their base clientele. Dealing to kids was a major NO in Jason’s book, so in the end, they all deserved the face-punching.

He was slipping. Jason felt the murderous rage building inside and he forced himself to breathe slowly even as his hands curled into fists. He couldn’t screw this up now, not even over the loss of his older brother.

Dick wouldn’t want him to fall back to old habits.

The crunch of roof gravel behind Jason sent his hand to his gun. Jason was in Red Hood mode, the helmet on and feeding him data. The man behind him had a bow in one hand, an arrow nocked on the string but aimed at the ground.

“You know, I heard legends about this mysterious Red Hood running the Gotham underworld, but I never thought I’d get to meet him in person.” Clint Barton held his ground at the doorway, blue eyes taking everything in from inside the hollow of the sweatshirt's purple hood. “Think I can get an autograph?”

“I’ll get right on that.” Jason turned, looking at the older man through his helmet’s slit eyes. “I got your text.”

“I figured that.”

“You gonna drop the bow?”

“Take your hand off the gun first.”

Jason looked down and saw he was still resting his hand on the gun hilt. He put the strap back in place and held his hands up. “Can’t be too careful in this town.”

“Trust me, I remember.” Clint put the arrow back in his quiver and slung the bow across his body. “Which of the baby birds are you?” Clint asked as he pulled back his hood.

“The one that’s not a baby anymore.” Jason reached up to pull his helmet off, shaking his hair out. The red domino mask was still in place, his white streak falling over it. “And the same one you taught how to aim batarangs while strapping Dick to a wooden fence.”

Clint laughed. “Jason Todd. I thought you were dead.”

“I was. I got better.”

Clint crossed the distance and held his hand out for Jason to shake. “You look good for a dead guy.”

“And you look good for some black-ops government agent that no longer exists in any computer system except one.” Jason smirked. _Thank you, Tim._ “I take it the assassin for hire business didn’t work out?”

“Oh, it worked out. A bit too well.” Clint shrugged. “At least now I have dental.”

Jason huffed, leaning against the back of the gargoyle. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“Dickie’s my family too. Tell me what happened.”

Jason sighed. “Dick’s told you about the villains around here?”

“Told me? Kid, I was slumming in this city long before you put on the tights.” Clint put his foot on the elevated roof ledge, looking into the city. “It was a safe space for me, a place to retreat between jobs when I had to lay low.”

“I’m surprised Bats never tried to turn you in.”

“Oh, I got the whole ‘stay out of Gotham’ lecture from him, but he’d have to catch me first if he wanted me locked up.” Clint shrugged. “Dickie knew where I hid out, but that’s about it. I had to promise not to take any jobs in Gotham and he’d keep Bats from finding me.”

“Yeah, he does that for me too.” Jason scratched at his chest where the red bat symbol had been ripped from his chest armor. “Technically, I’m not even supposed to be in Gotham. I’m only here because Red Robin is hiding my presence from the bat computer.”

“Nerdy little brother?”

“My replacement. Of course, he’s been replaced too, but that’s a different story for another day.” Jason pulled out a file folder from his jacket and held it out to Clint. “Here’s the medical file on Dick’s condition.”

“You know this is a HIPPA violation.” Clint opened the folder and thumbed through the pages of notes as Jason watched. After a moment of staring at the CAT scan, Clint whistled softly. “Damnit, Dickie.”

“Bane ordered the hit. The KGBeast is the one who took the shot.” Jason leaned his head back to stare at the smoggy sky. “Bats said he took care of it, which means the assholes are still alive out there.”

“You want me to take him out?” Clint asked, looking at Jason with one eyebrow raised.

Jason snorted. “No, I can do that myself.”

“Then what?”

Jason leaned over and flipped two more pages deeper into the file where the psychological notes started. “The brain damage gave him amnesia. The last thing he remembers is his parent’s death.”

Clint winced. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. So he doesn’t remember anything, or anyone, since then. Not Bruce, Alfred, any of us.”

“And not being Robin or Nightwing.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s Bruce doing about it?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Jason growled, the urge to punch faces returning. “Dick told Babs—”

“That's Barbara Gordon, right?”

“The same. He told her he didn’t want anything to do with us or the cape lifestyle. In a way, I mean I get it. He gets a fresh start in life free from all this crap.” Jason took a deep breath. “But he’s my brother, man. I can’t just let this go—I can’t let _him_ go. Tim, Damian, and I didn’t get a choice in this matter. Bruce said we’re to stay away and he’s got eyes on Dick to make sure.”

“So what do you want _me_ to do?” Clint asked, closing the folder.

“He remembers his circus life,” Jason stated. “You were a part of that life, which means he’ll still remember you.”

Clint was silent, his mind thinking back to those winter days where two circus brats spent their time swinging through trees and coming up with the dirtiest version of sign language their ten-year-old minds could create. “You sure he has those memories?”

“Dr. Thompkins had him list out everything he remembered.” Jason lifted his gauntlet and turned on the bat-computer between them. “Oracle, play Grayson recovery file 28.”

The screen flicked, and then they watched a video of Dick sitting across from Dr. Leslie Thompkins. Clint tried not to react to the differences he saw in his brother. Too skinny, shaved head, the scar standing out like a vivid reminder of mortality.

Clint might have to find someone to kill before heading back to S.H.I.E.L.D. after this is over.

“Tell me what you remember of the circus, Ric.” Dr. Thompkins asked on the video.

“Ric?” Clint raised an eyebrow, looking at Jason over the video.

Jason shrugged, his eyes never leaving the video. “It’s what he goes by now.”

“I remember everything. The lights, the audience, riding Zitka…” Ric Grayson looked out the window, a sad smile on his face. “I loved flying. I hated being on the ground because the real world wasn’t such a good place. But in the air, I was free. Nothing could hurt me there.”

“Once the vertigo goes away, you should be able to do it again.”

Ric shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, I know it was years ago now, but it feels like yesterday. I go to sleep and all I see is them falling.”

“Maybe you can focus on other things about circus life you enjoyed that isn’t connected to your parents? You’ve always been a charmer so you had to have friends.”

“Haly’s didn’t have a lot of kids running around. Most of my friends were in other circuses that we met down home during the winter.” Clint watched as Ric’s smile grew. “I had one really good friend during that time. Clint. He was with some midwest circus. His parents died in a car crash and he bounced around a few foster homes before he and his older brother ran away to join the circus.”

“Poor kid.”

“Clint had it bad. He was mostly deaf and so far behind in school, no one wanted to be around him—even his own brother half the time. One day he was sitting on the edge of the tightrope watching people below practicing new acts. I was going up to do a few warmups on the trapeze, and he looked so scared of me when I stopped at the landing.”

“A lot of kids in foster care are abused as children,” Dr. Thompkins stated. “Makes it hard to trust, and scary to be snuck up on.”

“I know. As I said, he had it bad.” Ric breathed on the window and started to draw in the mist left behind. “So I told him this lame joke to calm him down, and he made a horrible pun about it.” Ric laughed. “We were inseparable after that.”

“If it would help, we could try and locate him. It might be nice to have someone you do know nearby while you recover.”

“I doubt you’ll find him. Even if he’s still with the circus, no one will tell you.” Ric deflated, wiping the window clean and leaning back into the seat. “Probably has better shit to do than helping me.”

The video ended, the image of Ric hanging in the air. Jason looked up at Clint, jaw set. “Tim sent me this video because Dick would tell him crazy stories from the circus when he was first starting out as Robin. I think you met him once or twice after I took a hiatus from life.”

“I told you I met him.” A second screen opened next to Ric’s frozen image. Tim Drake looked exhausted, earbuds in. Trees moved behind him, indicating that he was outside taking a walk. “It was right after the first time we met Bane.”

“Oh yeah, Dick was trying to take back the mantle of the bat from that religious zealot. Good times.” Clint nodded his head to Tim. “I take it you’re the nerdy brother.”

“Yeah,” Tim deadpanned. “So are you taking the job or not?”

“Was there ever a question about it?” Clint slid the folder under the hoodie and against his stomach.

“Damian had doubts –”

Tim was cut off as Clint grabbed Jason’s arm and pushed Jason behind him. Clint moved faster than Jason could follow. As he spun, he grabbed his bow, an arrow, and notched it all while shifting himself in front of Jason and making himself the smallest target possible with his body. Roy had a similar move, but it was nowhere near as fluid as Clint made it look.

“Come out, whoever you are,” Clint ordered, easily holding the arrow, ready to fire.

“-tt-.” Damian Wayne came out of the shadows, his hood up and the cape hiding his hands from sight. “Any sane person would have doubts about an assassin who uses paleolithic weapons.”

Jason hung his head. “How long have you been there, brat?”

“The whole time,” Damian stated.

“He landed just after Tim appeared.” Clint hadn’t dropped his aim, watching Damian closely. “You need to work on your landings, kid.”

Damian huffed. “I was completely silent.”

“You kicked three rocks into the side of the HVAC, plus you set down between talkers instead of using the conversation to hide your landing.”

“Why are you here, Damian?” Jason turned his wrist so Tim could see the confrontation.

“I wanted to see the man you hired to protect Richard. After all, he is my brother too.” Damian started to walk a circle around Clint as the archer lowered the weapon and released some—but not all—of the tension on the draw. “I approve of this decision.”

“The king has spoken,” Tim rolled his eyes on the screen.

“You didn’t tell Bats you were coming here, right?” Jason asked.

“No, Todd. I know you are breaking father’s decree with your presence in the city so I refrained from speaking of my objectives tonight.”

“Still, we should probably go.” Clint looked at Tim, then Jason, before pulling out his phone. “I’m going to text you a number. It’s the Bluetooth frequency to my hearing aid. If you need me, use it. Just encrypt the line so my bosses don’t know you hacked in.”

“I can do that,” Tim said.

“Use a yes or no question system over the earpiece. One tap yes, two no.” Clint folded his bow up and attached it to his quiver. “Anything else, text me asking how my vacation is going.”

“Vacation?” Damian asked.

“Yeah. I got a couple of weeks off and I heard Blṻdhaven has some great casinos. I figure I’d try my hand at blackjack.” Clint flicked his hood up and stepped up on the ledge. “Wish me luck.”

“Here, take this.” Jason tossed a gym bag at Clint, who caught it easily. “A few things in there might help you both.”

“Thanks.” Clint turned and jumped off the roof. Jason and Damian ran to the edge and watched as Clint jumped back and forth between two fire escapes, backflips and somersaults all the way down to the street level. There was a motorcycle parked next to Jason’s that Clint straddled as he slid a black helmet over his head.

Damian snorted as Clint peeled out onto the main street. “I can see why he and Richard are friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about dirty sign language is a shoutout to the Two Circus Birds world by completelyhopeless (https://archiveofourown.org/series/187649), but this series is NOT a part of that overall universe. If you need something to read between my chapters, I highly recommend it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and Gentlemen, it's the moment you've been waiting for! Clint finds his amnesiac brother, and as their combined luck goes, a barfight isn't far behind them.

Ric Grayson’s arms laid crossed on top of the bar, his forehead on them. He wasn’t asleep, not really. Sleep wasn’t something he enjoyed anymore. Too many memories fighting to get out to the point where he wasn’t sure if they were real or he was dreaming them up. 

The smell of fresh coffee stirred him enough that he sat up, blurry blue eyes taking in the cup of coffee at his elbow. Ric chuckled and reached for it. “Thank Bea,” he said. 

The bartender, a beautiful black woman with lavender dreads halfway down her back, shook her head. “Wasn’t me, Ric.” Bea nodded to the man playing darts with some bikers relaxing at the Prodigal Bar. 

“Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” Ric muttered, turning to watch the blonde man while sipping the coffee. There was something familiar about the man, and it took him to the third sip to realize that he knew him. 

He remembered something. Someone. 

Ric tried to catch the coffee mug before it hit the bar, but he was unsuccessful and coffee splashed everywhere. Half the bar turned to watch as Ric flailed, laughing as he ended up covered in coffee. Then, to add insult to injury, Bea tossed a rag at him, landing on his head. “Clean up your own mess, Ric.” 

“Wow, that’s harsh.” Clint leaned against the bar as Ric cleaned up the coffee. “Let me guess, you stiffed her a tip last time?” 

Bea laughed. “He’d have to actually pay off his tab first.” 

“How much does he owe?” 

“Hundred fifty.” 

Clint pulled out his wallet and handed Bea two hundred in twenties. “Keep the change, beautiful,” he said with a smirk. 

Ric tossed the damp rag at the sink. Half went into the sink, the other half hanging over the lip. “I know you. How?” 

“Well, it’s been awhile since I shot arrows at you up on the trapeze, so I won’t be insulted you forgot your best friend.” Clint internally winced at his choice of words, but they were already out of his mouth so he couldn’t do anything about it. 

“… Clint?” Ric’s eyes opened wide, blue orbs searching, praying, for the promise of truth. 

“The one and only.” 

“Holy shit. Where the hell did you come from?” Ric was up and hugging his best friend before he finished the sentence. Clint hugged him back, keeping Ric close as he felt Ric’s hands bunch Clint’s shirt up in his fists. It took another moment until Clint felt Ric’s hot tears starting to soak into the front of his shirt. 

“That’s a loaded question, Dickie.” 

Ric stiffened at that and pushed back to stand a few steps out of reach. “Who sent you here? Was it Barbara or Bruce?” 

Clint held his hands up in the universal symbol of “I Come In Peace”. “Neither. Your brothers contacted me.” 

Ric tried to remember who he had seen at the hospital and the mansion, but he only remembered one brother: the tiny, angry one who looked terrified when he thought Ric wasn’t looking. “Damian?” 

“No. Jason and Tim.” Clint motioned to the stool for Ric to sit back down next to him. “They’re worried, but you asked for the Waynes to leave you alone, and they didn’t want to break that.” 

“So they called you.” 

“Yeah, which is very hard to do and involves breaking into a top-secret intelligence organization.” Clint didn’t hide how impressed he was at Tim’s skills. “They wanted to let me know what happened. I made the choice to come here to check on you myself. You’d have done the same if it was me.” 

Ric couldn’t argue with that. “How’d they know about you?” 

“Well, you won’t remember, but I’ve been bouncing in and out of Gotham for years after I left the circus. You introduced me to both of them.” 

“And you’re sure Bruce—” 

Clint laughed. “I’m pretty sure Bruce would make Batman remove me from the city if he knew I was here. He’s not my biggest fan.” 

That had Ric grinning. “Well, good.” The tension melted out of his shoulders. “It’s good to see you, man.” 

“I’d say the same if it wasn’t under the circumstances.” The scar on Ric’s head stood out against the stubble of hair on his head. “How’re you doing?” 

“I’m sure you’ve read the medical file.” Ric waved to Bea for another coffee. 

“Yeah, but you aren’t your medical file.” Clint made it two and relaxed. “Come on, we’re still brothers, right? You can tell me.” 

Ric sighed, the grin leaving his face. “It’s bad, but I’ve had worse. Or so I’m told.” 

“But hey, at least you still have your hearing.” It was an old joke. No matter how hurt Dick had gotten as a kid in the circus, it was never bad enough to damage the flyer’s hearing. Clint always won with that argument, but he wasn’t sure he would today. 

“Yeah, perfect hearing but no memories of the last fourteen years of my life.” Ric snorted. “Trade you.” 

“If it was possible, Dickie, I’d take it in a heartbeat.” 

Their coffee arrived and Bea leaned on the bar with them. “You gonna introduce me to your friend, Ric?” 

Ric blushed a bit. “Sure. Bea, this is Clint. We grew up in separate circuses but spent the winters together. Clint, this is the badass owner of Prodigal Bar, Bea.” 

Clint threw on his charming smile. “Pleasure to meet you officially.” 

Bea gave Clint a once over, then looked at Ric before chuckling. “There’s two of you, right down to the baby blues. Just what this bar needs.” 

“Yo, blondie, you gonna finish this game or not?” The two bikers by the dart board waited with crossed arms. “If not, you forfeit and I win.” 

Clint looked over and quickly judged his shot. He could see a sliver of the red bullseye at this angle, and that’s all he needed. “How about this, Jack; double or nothing, I take the shot from this barstool.” 

Jack laughed, and the rest of the bar got quiet at the challenge. “From there? Why not triple?” 

“Accepted.” Clint pulled the dart from his shirt pocket and evaluated the weight in his hand. 

Ric looked at the dartboard, then Clint. “You sure you can make it?” 

“I never miss.” 

Turning to the room, Ric held up a hand. “I’ve got a hundred that says he’ll make it.” 

“I’ll take that bet!” The redneck at the pool table pulled out a hundred and walked to the bar, slapping it down in front of Ric. A few more took up the bet, all on the side of Clint missing. 

Bea walked over, slapping a hundred over Ric’s bill. “What the hell, I’ll go for the underdog.” She winked at Ric and leaned back. 

Clint grinned, having not moved from his spot against the bar. “Can’t lose now, or I won’t be able to get a decent beer here anymore.” 

“Boy, you get this, you and Ric drink on me the rest of the night.” 

Clint looked at a grinning Ric, then shrugged with one shoulder. “The things I do for you.” Taking one more look carefully at the dartboard, Clint lined up his shot and let the dart fly. 

“Fuck yeah!” Ric pumped his fist in the air as the dart not only hit the center of red bullseye, but it kicked out the previous dart in its spot. The ones who bet against Clint groaned, muttering about cheating but going back to their game of pool. 

Clint spread his arms out wide. “Not called the world’s greatest marksman for nothing.” 

“Yeah, that so?” The sound of a bottle breaking followed the biker’s words, and Clint found the jagged glass press against his throat. “You set us up.” 

“Seriously, if I knew you guys were such bad losers, I would have quadrupled the bet.” Clint’s blue eyes narrowed as he stood completely still, minus the flick of his hand when he saw Ric approaching in the periphery of his vision. 

One of the glass edges nicked along Clint’s chin as the bottle pushed higher. “That so? Well, not only am I keeping my money, but I’m taking all the spoils of your friend’s side betting. You lose.” 

“I think not.” Clint kicked his leg out, pushing the biker back easily into the pool table. He ducked as the second biker swung at his head, smoothly spinning to trip him onto the bar floor. Clint came out of the spin and flipped up to his feet. “Are we done yet?” he asked. 

“I don’t think so.” The chunuck of a gun chambering made Clint turn, already pulling out his firearm. As he aimed, he saw that biker number one had pulled Ric into a headlock with one arm, a gun aimed at Ric’s head with the hand. “Now hand over the money before your brother here ends up with another hole in his head.” 

Ric’s eyes were wide, and Clint could see the panic setting in. The gun was pressing against the jagged scar still visible on the side of Ric’s head. Has to be PTSD, he thought. Ric normally wouldn’t have a problem flipping the guy off him, but he was frozen in place. 

Another gun chambered. Clint saw Bea step into his vision, a shotgun in her arms. “You let go of Ric now, or I’ll be making a new dartboard out of your ugly mug.” 

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Clint told Bea as he eyed the bar for a weapon, ending up with a handful of martini olive sticks. He slid one between each finger on his left hand, calculating angles in his mind. “Last chance to get out of here before I hand you your ass.” 

Clint saw the biker’s trigger finger twitch, and before another round of insults began, Clint flicked the sticks. Brachial plexus, bicep, hand. Each stick embedded themselves from the force of the throw; each aimed to strike a nerve to cause arm paralysis and pain. 

Even as the biker dropped the gun, Clint was moving. His kick aimed the push the stick at the plexus further into the man’s body and get him to let Ric go. The biker went down in pain. 

Clint grabbed Ric before he could fall and shifted him against the bar. “Watch him!” he ordered Bea, then jumped on the biker and started to lash out as the entire bar broke out into chaos. 

Sirens and flashing lights came through the slat windows by the front door. A few patrons threw down cash and ran out the back door. Clint aimed one last punch at the biker’s bloodied face but was stopped as a hand grabbed his wrist. “Give it up, son,” the cop sneered into his ear as he dragged Clint off the biker and slammed him back into the floor. He felt the handcuffs bite into his skin. 

“Aw c’mon. You’ve got the wrong guy,” Clint said. The cop kicked him in his stomach in reply. Clint coughed, tasting iron in his mouth. He spit out the blood, then grinned up at the cop. “Left back pocket.” 

The cop aimed to kick Clint again, but someone pushed him back. Clint saw a female detective grab his flat badge and drag it out. She opened it, then whistled in amazement. “Hey Detective Sapienza, check this out.” 

Clint whistled to himself as footsteps approached. There was a moment’s pause, and then the handcuffs were removed. Rolling over, Clint found Sapienza’s hand being offered to him. “Sorry for the confusion, Agent Barton.” 

“It’s one of the problems when you’re in civvies.” Clint took his S.H.I.E.L.D. badge back and grinned. “Thanks.” 

Sapienza nodded, then pulled the abusive cop out of the bar. The brown-haired female detective gave Clint a once over and smirked before grabbing the biker from the wall and pushing him out. 

“Clint, a little help?” Bea stood talking to a brown-haired police officer—whose facial features reminded Clint instantly of the female detective—and was giving her statement. She pointed behind the bar. Cursing to himself, he leapt over the bar and knelt beside Ric. 

Ric was curled up, arms hugging his legs as he stared at the beer fridge. Already regretting what was going to get on his jeans, Clint sat in Ric’s direct line of vision. “Ric, they’re gone. You’re safe.” 

“I can’t… I can’t breathe…” Ric gasped, shutting his eyes. 

“Yes, you can. You just got to do it slower, man.” Clint reached over and placed a hand on Ric’s knee. “Breathe in with me. One… two…” Clint tapped Ric’s knee through the count of five to breathe in. “And out. One… two…” he tapped again, repeating the pattern for several minutes until he could see Ric’s breathing come back to normal. 

“There you go.” Clint squeezed Ric’s knee. “Good job. Better?” 

“Yeah.” Ric rubbed at his face with his shirt. “Sorry, I—” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Clint said, cutting him off. “PTSD happens to the best of us, and shit, both of us have enough issues to bring it on. I’ve got you.” 

Ric nodded, releasing his legs. They stood up, and Clint helped himself to a glass of water, passing another to Ric. 

“Agent Barton, Mister Grayson, can I get your statements now?” Detective Sapienza was sitting at the bar, flipping through the notebook with the younger officer’s notes. Bea slid past Ric and Clint to help customers. 

“Sure thing.” 

Clint and Ric talked to the detective for ten minutes with the details of the betting—legal in Blüdhaven—and the barfight. Sometime during the questioning, shots of whiskey appeared in front of all three of them. When all his questions were answered and the whiskey was gone, the detective left. 

Ric sat on a stool, rubbing his head. “I think I’m done for the night.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been up almost two days now. I could use a nap,” Clint said. 

Bea walked over and held out two rolls of money. “Well, don’t forget this, boys. I already took out my share.” 

Clint grabbed them both, handing the thicker one to Ric. “You are an absolute delight, Bea. I think I’m going to enjoy hanging out here.” 

“Come back anytime,” Bea replied. “But if you make a habit of starting barfights, you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of my shotgun.” 

“Promises, promises.” Clint winked, then turned to Ric. “Alright, Dickie, where’s home these days?” 

“Um… about that…” Ric rubbed the back of his neck. 

Clint groaned. “Are you seriously still sleeping in the back of your cab.” 

“No,” Ric said ruefully. “I’m crashing at a flat while the owners are on vacation. Or will be, once I check Facebook.” 

“Damnit.” Clint grabbed Ric’s jacket and tossed it as his face. “No, you’re going to follow me, and we’re going to sleep in your own bed.” Clint waved goodbye to Bea and headed for the door. 

Ric looked at his jacket, then Clint. “I have a bed?” 

“You know, you’re damn lucky your brothers love your dumb ass. Come on.” 

They went outside to where Clint had parked his motorcycle next to Ric’s cab. He told Ric the address they were driving to as Clint inputted it on his cellphone. “And before you ask, no, this isn’t something Bruce gave you. It’s your name on the lease, apparently purchased by you specifically because you didn’t want to live in the penthouse that Bruce got for you.” 

“I’ve been trying to avoid stuff from my past life,” Ric pointed out. 

“Yeah, well there’s avoiding stuff, and then there’s sleeping in the back of your cab.” Clint straddled his motorcycle. “Sometimes you gotta make compromises, Ric. Just give it a once over and if you don’t like it, put it up for sale and have money to get a new place. You’ve barely had it a year anyway according to public records.” 

Ric licked his lips, then nodded. “Alright. One night.” 

“Awesome. Meet you there.” Helmet on, Clint closed the visor, kickstarted the engine, and pulled into traffic. He watched the cab pull out behind him, then speed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone confused about the building they're going to? Check out DC Rebirth Nightwing #35 for the schematics. We'll be spending a lot of time in this location so brush up now!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint reintroduces Ric to his warehouse. Alfred is a national treasure (hate you DC!!!). Jason is near explosions. Typical Monday.

“You sure this is the right place?”

“It says Grayson’s Cross Training on the front window.”

“Could be a coincidence.”

“Seriously, Dickie?”

“What about you? You’re some kind of secret agent and you can’t even open a door with a key?”

“Not my fault you don’t oil your locks! Oh wait, I think I got it.”

The lock clicked and Clint opened the door. “Taa-dah. Welcome home, Richard Grayson.”

Ric led them into the back half of the building. It was pretty threadbare of a back room, set up like a studio apartment with a large training station at the end of the room that looked more like his personal training spot than what would be in a Crossfit studio. “Who wants to bet there’s a secret compartment with even more Nightwing suits?” Ric muttered, then opened his eyes and spun to look at Clint. “Shit.”

Clint snorted. “I already know about your old extracurriculars, Dickie,” he said, waving off Ric’s concern as he walked into the kitchen area. He flipped the lights on, afraid of what he was going to find growing in a place abandoned for months now by its owner.

The kitchen was sparkling clean.

“Do you have a maid service or something?” Clint asked as he moved to the pantry. “I know you don’t keep anything clean like this.”

“You know the definition of amnesia, right?” Ric’s voice floated from the opposite side of the studio.

“You’re such a dick!” Clint shouted back. He opened a set of cabinets and stepped back, his arms falling to his sides. “And why the hell would you have an entire cabinet filled with cereal?”

Ric poked his head into the kitchen. “Cereal?” His eyes were wide, childlike wonder in his smile.

“Yeah. Fruit Loops, Frosted Flakes...”

Before Clint could continue, he watched as Ric flipped up on the island behind Clint, arched over the blonde man, and grabbed a box of Fruit Loops from the top shelf. He sat down where he had stood and opened the box, diving his hand into it and tossing a few colored pieces in his mouth.

Clint just blinked. “What are you, twelve?”

“Mentally, yes.” Ric grinned and took another handful.

“Sweet mother of God...” Clint muttered and moved to the fridge while Ric made orgasm noises as he ate his precious cereal. “Use a bowl at least!” he added over his shoulder before opening one of the fridge doors.

The sight of a full fridge shocked Clint. There were bins of fresh fruit and vegetables, stuff for sandwiches, and a few Tupperware containers filled with single-serving meals.

_How old is all this stuff?_

A piece of paper was attached to the gallon of milk—fresh if the expiration date was real. Clint grabbed the paper and saw it was addressed to him.

_Master Clinton,_

_Master Jason informed me of your imminent arrival at Master Richard’s warehouse studio. I have taken time to clean the facility as it has suffered in Master Richard’s absence. Please see that Master Richard eats more than just cereal. I hope the selection is to his satisfaction, but he cannot survive on sugar alone._

_You will also find a coffee maker and supplies above the dishwasher. Master Tim assures me that the selection he picked of ground coffee will be sufficient for both yours and Master Richard’s tastes._

_If there is anything you need, let Master Tim or Master Damian know and I will have it delivered forthwith. Otherwise, I will not come back to the city per Master Richard’s preferences, so please strive to keep the place in order._

_Sincerely Yours – Alfred._

_P.S. - I have made your favorite cookies, Master Clinton. They are in the cookie jar near the coffee maker._

“Of all the things you gave up... how could you give up Alfred?” Clint pocketed the note and grabbed the milk, putting it on the island near Ric.

“Every time they looked at me, they were looking for who I was before the accident. I’m that guy anymore.” Ric looked at the milk, his cereal box, then shrugged and kept eating.

“Did you ever give them a chance to get to know who you are now?” Clint grabbed a glass, filled it with milk, then happily reached into the cookie jar and pulled out three chocolate chip and butterscotch cookies.

Ric stayed silent, watching as Clint grinned and took his first bite. Clint groaned in happiness, closing his eyes. “It’s been ten years. Damn, I’ve missed these.”

“What are they?”

“Here, try one.” Clint held a cookie out to Ric. “Just don’t get any ideas on eating the rest. They’re mine.”

“Yeah, but this is technically my place.” Ric took a bite of the cookie and grinned. “Damn, you’re right. Those are amazing.”

“Alfred made them for me when I was recovering at Wayne Manor. He felt providing something special would keep my morale up.”

“You were at Wayne Manor?” Ric took his time savoring the cookie. “Why?”

“It’s a long story.” Clint shrugged, his smile slipping as he remembered the events leading up to his near death. “I got shot, took a bad fall, and the Carson's left me behind.”

“Oh.” Ric thought a moment. “What happened to your brother... Barney, right? He wouldn’t abandon you.”

Clint sighed, his appetite suddenly gone. He looked at what remained of his cookies and wrapped them up and put them in the fridge with the untouched glass of milk. “Barney joined the army, at least that’s what he told me. Haven’t heard from him since.”

“Damn.” Ric slipped off the counter and walked over to Clint, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Clint.”

“Yeah, well you’ve always been the better brother to me.” Clint shrugged, looking at Ric. “But I’m not joking when I say that you’re the only family I have left.”

“And you came all this way for me.”

“You did it for me.”

Ric rubbed at his eyes, yawning even with all the sugar he just inhaled. “We can catch up more tomorrow. I’m about to crash.”

“You go. I’m still a bit wired from the fight.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Unless you want me to join you in bed?” Clint wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh hell no.” Ric laughed. “Anyway, Jason is way more your type.”

Clint blinked at the slip. Did Ric remember what his brother was like, or was it something he had learned while relearning who Dick Grayson was? Either way, it reminded him that he needed to do a few check-ins.

He watched Ric leave the kitchen, cereal box still on the island, and disappeared behind a pile of crates that made up a wall. Knowing where his bedroom was—Clint chalked that up to Ric’s muscle memory.

When Ric didn’t reappear after a few minutes, Clint pulled out his cellphone. He quickly typed off a message to Coulson, letting his handler know that he was alive and safe. He then slipped outside the warehouse door and headed to his motorcycle to grab his gear.

He checked over his shoulder to see if Ric was watching out a window, then tapped his hearing aid. “X-01 for B-20. Come in, 20.”

The static normal to his hearing aid cleared up. The world around him went silent except for the beep from that ear. “I’m here, 1.” Tim’s voice responded.

“R2D2 patched in?”

“Screw you and your made-up call signs,” Jason’s voice replied, followed by explosions.

Clint blinked. “If you’re busy, I can call back.”

“Just another day in the office.” A few gunshots and then silence on Jason’s end. “So how’d it go?” he asked, a bit too casually for the chaos in the background.

“Went pretty well, and even fit a bar fight in.” Clint slipped his weapons out of the side compartments and shoved them into the duffle bag.

“Where are you now?” Tim asked.

“The warehouse. He doesn’t remember it, but he agreed to stay the night at least.” Clint chuckled. “The cabinet full of cereal certainly helped.”

“Alfred,” Jason and Tim said simultaneously.

“Yeah. Which 20? Thank him for the cookies. And like, cleaning the entire place.”

“Will do.”

“How is he?” Jason asked.

Clint leaned against his motorcycle, looking at the door. “He’s actually doing really good, guys. I know you all miss him, but I gotta tell you, I haven’t seen him this relaxed in years—and mind you, I haven’t seen him in five years.”

They were silent for a moment, then Tim sighed. “As long as he’s okay, I know that’s what we should be happy for.”

“But you’d rather have him home,” Clint said softly.

Jason huffed. “It just isn’t right without his dumb commentary on the coms.”

“And he’s the only one who knows how to deal with the demon spawn,” Tim added.

“He’ll find his way back to his memories,” Clint said. “Or, he’ll reach a point where he will feel comfortable enough to try to make contact again. Dickie’s still your brother. I mean, he wasn’t mad you guys reached out to me.”

“You told him?” Jason asked.

“Of course. I’ve never lied to him; we made that promise to each other.” Clint shrugged to himself. “I may omit things from time to time, but I never lie.”

“As long as he isn’t mad.” Clint could hear the weariness in Tim’s voice.

“You guys are good. But listen, I need to get back inside in case he’s watching me.” Clint watched the window and while he didn’t see Ric, Clint wouldn’t put it past him to have found another way to watch him. “I’ll check back again in a few days.”

“Call if you need us,” Tim said.

“Yeah, because if you thought Gotham was bad—”

“I know all about Blüdhaven, R2, but I appreciate the concern.” Clint pulled both duffle bags over his shoulder. “X-01 out.”

Clint tapped his hearing aid, switching back to its normal function. He winced as the sounds of the city crashed over him, loud and raw. He reached up to lower the volume, then went to the door and slipped back in.

Walking to where Ric had disappeared, he turned past the wall of wooden crates. A platform bed sat under a half window. Ric was facedown across the mattress, his head turned enough to the side so he could breathe. He had managed to at least get out of his jeans, leaving Ric in his dirty t-shirt and a pair of tighty-whities.

Clint sighed and grabbed a blanket from the floor, then tossed it over Ric. He looked around the room and saw a hammock hanging in the far corner of the room. “I’ve slept in worse,” he muttered as he crossed the room. Clint dropped his bags between the hammock and the corner of the walls, then tossed his jacket on top. Boots were next, and then he climbed into the hammock fully dressed.

“You better damn be here in the morning,” Clint whispered at Ric, then closed his eyes and drifted off himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to make these amazing cookies that Alfred "created" for Clint? [Here is the recipe](https://thepioneerwoman.com/food-and-friends/butterscotch-chocolate-chunk-cookies/)!
> 
> So yeah, that was a thing that happened. I'm going to end up writing another fic for teen!Clint and his stay in Wayne Manor once I finish this. Anyone who follows Hawkeye will already know the event leading up to it, but if you don't, you need to read the _AMAZING_ Hawkeye series from 2012 (or the wiki).
> 
> And in case you're wondering, I'm using that Hawkeye series for his personality, but bleeding in his S.H.I.E.L.D. life from the MCU. There is no Laura here, he and Bobbi are already divorced, and Clint is bisexual.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments--I may even share upcoming plot points if asked nicely!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Ric debates on how much of his "family's" help he is willing to accept--especially since he told them all to leave him alone. And he isn't the only one noticing Ric softening to things, and people, from his past.

Ric woke up early. He always woke up early, usually shaking himself from a nightmare. Yet this was a rare good dream, one conjured from the images of childhood. His dream consisted of two boys running through winter quarters, laughing in a game of tag where the only rule was not to kill the other. 

How he and Clint lived to be twelve is proof that miracles happen. 

Living to 26, even with his nearly dying and current memory loss? There is a God... and He has a horrible sense of humor.

There was something in his brain, however, that demanded to be awake before sunrise. Even so, he still tried to nestle further into his pillow and blanket. He was grateful that he wasn’t surrounded by the seven bottomless pits looking like cats whom he had been rooming with the last few days. Damn, he needed to go over and feed them.

The silence of the morning was shattered by a loud snore.

Lifting his head, Ric looked for the source of the noise. It took only a moment before he noticed the swaying hammock holding Clint as he slept. Ric smirked, still amused at the fact his childhood best friend had hunted him down.

He should be angry. Well, there was a part of him that  _ was _ angry. The  Waynes were treading a fine line when it came to respecting his desire for space. But it hadn’t been Bruce that did this, at least as far as he knew. 

It was the two brothers he hadn’t met. Damian told Ric about them in one of the few visits his youngest brother was allowed to have. Jason Todd and Timothy Drake, the two adopted brothers between Ric and Damian. Why would they care about him now if they didn’t bother to see him in the hospital? Something didn’t add up. He’d have to question Clint later when his guard was down.

But right now, Ric had this place to consider. It felt familiar in a way he couldn’t describe. Every with his memories gone, his body knew all the steps in this dance of his past. It finally took the framed certification with his name on it to prove to Ric that this warehouse was his. The equipment looked like the bare-bones stuff that the muscle men at Haly’s used to keep in shape during the winter.

This could be a better gig than the cab driving, but Ric actually enjoyed patrolling the city for fares. Even if past him wanted to make this a career, Ric didn’t remember any of the skills that had earned him that trainer certification. It’d be a lot of work to get everything back up and running.

Ric sat up in bed and groaned, rubbing at his head. It was too early to be dealing with this. He needed coffee. And cereal. And maybe a shower.

But first—Ric got up and pulled open the drawers under his bed. “Sweet,” he said to himself as he pulled out fresh clothes. He had needed a change of clothing three weeks ago. 

He stripped out of the old clothes and moaned at the feel of soft cotton against his skin. Moments later, he slipped into sweatpants and a t-shirt, neither of which had any insignia related to Wayne Enterprises and that Ric figured cost more than what he made in a  week.

Breakfast was next. He padded to the kitchen and fiddled with the coffee maker. Ric found the coffee and supplies easily and started a strong pot brewing. While he waited, he jumped back up on the island and started eating from the box where he had left off the night before.

As the scent of coffee started to fill the room, a loud  _ thump _ came from the sleeping area. Ric turned, pausing in his breakfast consumption to look at the hammock, then the pile of limbs and blonde hair below it.

“You okay over there, Clint?”

Clint pushed himself up, then rubbed at his head while blinking wearily at the hammock. 

“Clint?”

Not responding, Clint ducked under the hammock to get his bag, then plodded towards the bathroom. “Clint!” Ric shouted, sliding off the island. Still no response from the blonde archer as he kept going, eyes barely open.

Ric thought a moment, then noticed that the purple hearing aid was not in Clint’s ear.  _ Figures. _ Thinking fast, Ric pounded his foot on the floor twice. Clint’s boots were off, and Ric knew Clint’s other senses made up for the hearing loss. 

When Clint felt the vibration of the floor, he stopped and turned his head to look at Ric, his blue eyes barely visible through the slits of his eyelids.

_ You okay over there, Sleeping Beauty? _ Ric signed.  _ You look like shit. _

Clint blinked, then flipped Ric off as he continued to the bathroom. Ric laughed and went to pour two cups of coffee, leaving one at the end of the island for Clint when he returned.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes before Clint returned dressed in black jeans and wearing a purple hoodie, hearing aids now in place. He was still ambling in his step, yet zeroed in on the steaming mug. He grunted in Ric’s direction before downing the entire mug in one go.

Ric just paused, his own mug halfway to his lips, as he watched Clint. “You know, you’re going to burn your throat that way.”

Clint grunted again, moving past Ric to the coffee maker and refilling his mug, drinking it down slower this time.

“So, are we going to talk--” Ric was cut off as Clint held up a finger, not the middle one this time, and put it over Ric’s lips. Ric grinned around it, finding delight in witnessing the mixture of what he remembered of Clint and a responsible adult.

Clint finished his second cup, then dropped his finger. “Ok, what do you want to talk about?” Clint asked as he poured his third cup, then leaned against the counter as he sipped it.

“Well first, do I need to worry about your coffee intake?” The grin still sat on Ric’s lips. “Or do I just need to pour myself a cup and give you a straw for the pot tomorrow?”

“I need either twenty ounces of coffee or four shots of espresso before I can speak coherently,” Clint stated, rolling his eyes at Ric’s amused look. “ _ You _ were always the early riser.”

“I don’t remember being an early riser. Hell, Mom used to drag me out of bed so that we could rehearse. She did it so often, Dad joked that I could do the routine in my sleep.”

Ric put his cereal box down, no longer hungry. He knew it was over a decade ago that they died, but the memory was fresh for him.

_ Standing on the ledge, holding the bar while his mother waved to the crowd. His father was on the other bar, pumping his legs to get better height for the next performance. The crowd still cheering from his quadruple somersault.  _

_ His mother kissing him on his cheek. His father winking as he slid back into his catching position. Ric watching his mother fly... and then fall. _

_ Then nothing. _

“Ric?” Clint snapped his fingers in front of Ric’s face. Ric leaned back, gasping, knocking the cereal box off the island and onto the floor. “Hey, it’s just me,” Clint said, putting his hands upon Ric’s shoulder.

But it wasn’t Clint he saw. It was a bat; huge, strong, overpowering him with red eyes and dripping fangs. It screeched, the claw on each wing digging into his shoulder. “Get away!” Ric shouted, his body already moving to thrust his hand out at the bat’s face. The bat screeched again as Ric felt bone give way. 

The bat let go and Ric moved on instinct. He spun, foot flying up to kick the bat further away, using the  push-off from the bat’s chest to twist up in the air and connect with the bat’s chin to drop him.

“Aw, come on!” Clint growled from the floor, trying to get his breath and rubbing his jaw. Ric moved to the oven, grabbing a knife from the butcher block next to it. Before Ric sprung at him again, Clint was up and turning on the skin. He grabbed the spray extension and put its full force right at Ric’s face. “Snap out of it, Dickie!”

Ric shook his head, hand coming up to block the water. The darkness and the bat faded away, and he saw Clint holding the hose, blood coming from his broken nose and a red cheek from Ric’s boot. “Shit, Clint, stop.” Ric got out between hits of water. 

Clint stopped but didn’t lower the hose. “Ric?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Ric slid down the cupboard to the ground, not caring that he was sitting in a puddle of water. “Sorry, just... sorry.”

Clint slid to the floor as well, then rubbed his jaw. “What happened?”

“Hallucinations.”  Ric rubbed at his scar. “I get them sometimes. Or I blackout and lose time.”

“That sucks.”

Ric looked back up at Clint. “How bad is it?”

Clint scoffed, wincing as the air came through his nose roughly. “What’s a broken nose between friends?”

“I’m sorry, Clint.”

“Stop apologizing,” Clint said as he pressed his palms to either side of his nose. “Just find me a first aid kit.” With a quick jerk, Clint snapped his nose back into place, cursing into his fist the next moment as he bit back the pain.

Ric opened up the cabinets, discovering a bright red box under the kitchen sink. He crawled next to his best friend and opened it. “Do I want to know how many times you’ve broken your nose that you know how to reset it?”

“No, you really don’t.” Clint taped up his nose, keeping his head tipped forward as he waited for the blood to stop dripping. 

Looking at the mess, Ric sighed. “I’m assuming that Mister Pennyworth would have my head if he saw this mess.”

“Yup. Stern looks and British judgment—but he would help us clean it.” Clint looked up at him. “Why’d you bring him up?”

“Because I’m not blind, Clint. Fresh food and a clean home I haven’t been to in months?” Ric shook his head. “I’m choosing to look past my desires to be left alone by the  Waynes for this instance in favor of having my own bed and clothes.”

“Good, because I really don’t want to sleep in your cab.”

Ric leaned back, smirking. “I don’t blame you. I know what goes on in the back of my cab. It’s due for an interior wash again.”

“And you made it gross.” Clint pulled himself back up, then helped Ric as well. “We should clean this up, then maybe go out for breakfast?”

“Sure, we can do that,” Ric said with a shrug.

“Good. You broke my nose, so you’re buying.”

As the two men left Grayson Cross Training and walked deeper into the city, a man sitting at the bus stop across the street tracked their movements over the top of his paper. His cell phone rang and he tapped the Bluetooth earpiece. “I’m here.”

“Status report.”

“Inform Cobb that there is a complication to his plan. He will want to address this immediately if he is to obtain the Gray Son.”

“Understood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, the Court of Owls will be A THING soon. Because remember, they take orphaned kids from circuses... and what do Clint and Dick have in common? Also, it will be shining a huge spotlight on Clint's past in Gotham
> 
> But first, Ric and Clint need to officially meet the Nightwings! Oh, and there will be some shenanigans with Clint and Jason while Ric ditches his BFF for alone time with Bea.
> 
> And I need to figure out where _Batman: Pennyworth R.I.P_ fits in with the continuity because I have feels and OMG it was so good and you can see Dick bleeding through Ric and my precious family is broken and needs its Grayson back.
> 
> See you sometime next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grand Reopening of Grayson Cross Fit Training with guest trainer Clint. Nothing will go wrong, right?
> 
> And then Bobbi walked in and Clint found himself outnumbered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to write to music, so I made a [playlist on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3feq0N4DXacOaLy4YXbgor) to write to. Feel free to listen while reading.
> 
> Also, I will have my thesis first draft finished Monday, so I should be able to write faster moving forward. Or at least until I hit the editing stage. And thanks everyone for your kudos and comments! <3

_ One Week Later _ ...

Clint dusted his hands off on his sweatpants, looking around the CrossFit gym that made up half the warehouse.  _ I think this is going to work well _ , he told himself. He had repositioned the equipment into stations similar to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s gym and then created a shooting alley to teach archery. 

While Ric was off driving his cab, Clint had spent his time cleaning the equipment. They met up halfway through Ric’s shift most nights for something to eat at the diner, discussing plans to restructure the studio.

“Aren’t you supposed to be babysitting me?” Ric asked after swallowing a bite of his burger.

Clint shrugged, twirling his fry in the air. “Do you want me babysitting you?”

“Not really.”

“Then I think you’re a big boy and can handle yourself just fine at your job.” Clint dipped the fry in Ric’s ketchup. “I, however, need to earn some money if I’m going to get a bed of my own and some new clothes. Plus, you know, food.”

Ric batted Clint’s hand away. “What about your actual job?”

“Side gigs are allowed as long as they don’t interfere with missions.”

“ So, we’re doing this then?” Ric asked.

“As long as you’re good with me crashing indefinitely.” Clint smirked at his best friend.

“Circus bros for life,” Ric said, lifted his ginger ale into the air. Clint tapped his coffee mug against it.

Now it was time to open for business. Flyers about the gym’s reopening, along with the guest instructor, had been circulating through town the last few days. Clint hoped that it would get some interest, especially since the flyer had a “one free session” coupon to redeem. 

He double-checked his mental opening sequence in his head; Fresh towels, check. A case of cheap bottled water on a chair, check. Chalk for weightlifters, check. Equipment was clean and ready for use...

“Are you done on the rings?” Clint asked, looking up. Ric was holding himself up in a handstand on the two rings hanging from the ceiling. He was sweating, his face and bare chest glistening in the sunlight coming through the front window.

“I’m trying to get my blood flowing,” Ric called down as he slowly spread his arms, maintaining the handstand with his arms stretched out to his sides. 

“You’re showing off!” Clint laughed. In the periphery of his vision, he saw two women looking through the window, phones up and taking a picture of the shirtless acrobat. Clint waved at them, flashing his own charming smile. One of the girls waved back, then grabbed her friend and kept walking.

Ric started to swing his body around in the air, gaining momentum before he let go of the rings, did two somersaults in the air, and landed perfectly on the mat. “And the crowd goes wild!” Ric exclaimed, holding his arms up in the air in a finishing pose.

Clint threw a towel at his face. “Clean your sweat up off the mat. I’m trying to run a respectable place here.”

“Yes sir.” Ric saluted and went to clean the mat, then wrapped the towel around his shoulders. “You sure you don’t want me to stick around and help out?”

“You said you had plans before work.”

“Most of it was just going to warm the barstool at Bea’s.”

Clint smiled. “You’ve been doing that a lot the last few days.”

“What can I say?” Ric grinned while holding his hands out innocently. “It’s a comfortable stool.”

“Uh huh. Go shower and tell your  girlfriend I said hi.”

Ric backed out of the room, pointing at Clint. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Yet!” Clint shouted back as Ric disappeared behind the door separating the living area from the gym. Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Clint walked to the door and flipped the little sign in the window to OPEN, and then smoothed out the back of his archery lessons flyer.

He could do this. Clint could be a real civilian with a real job in the real world. It was a first, yes, but he was a good actor. Fake it until you make it, that was his motto.

Clint went to go do a few stretches to warm his own body up when the door chimed. A long-legged blonde woman entered the gym, her hair back in a ponytail, eyes hidden behind designer shades. She was dressed in a spaghetti-string top and cut-off shorts, a fabric bag slung over her shoulder with the words “Ask Me About My Feminist Agenda” surrounded by  Hawaiian flowers on it.

“Hey, handsome. Nice place you got here,” she said, and Clint grinned because he would recognize that smile and voice anywhere.

“Bobbi! What are you doing out this way?” Clint crossed the room to hug Bobbi Morse tightly. “I thought they had you stationed down in DC.”

“I’ve been put onto a case in Boston, and Coulson asked me to drop these off on my way.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a picture frame and an envelope, handing them both to Clint.

Clint took them, moving the envelope to look at what was framed, then grinned. “He got it already. Damn, he’s fast,” Clint stated, admiring his personal trainer certification.

“I think he was proud of you when he handed it to me.” Bobbi looked in her bag, then pulled out her lip gloss. “Then again, you can’t really tell with Coulson. He’s mastered his poker face.”

“Well aware of that.” Clint walked over to the wall, pulling a thumbtack from the announcement/schedule corkboard and shoving it into the wall under Richard Grayson’s certification. He hung it up, then stepped back and grinned. “There, now it’s official.”

“Did you even take the test to earn that?” Bobbi asked, coming up to his side.

“You have to take a test?” Clint asked, smirking, and Bobbi slapped his shoulder. They laughed. “Yes, I took the test. Or well, I took it, Coulson made sure I answered it correctly, and then we submitted it.”

“Well, it’s only for a few weeks anyway, right?”

Clint shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure yet.”

“Not sure?” Bobbi turned to face him, the smile dropping from her face. “What’s going on?”

“Well, I honestly forgot how freeing it was to be a normal person.” Clint rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve only ever been one around Dickie. Even when it was you and me, the job always hung over our relationship. Hell, it’s what ended it.”

“One of the reasons,” Bobbi corrected him.

“Anyway, Ric needs his best friend around. Not as a babysitter, but just as a friend. Someone he can rely on.” Clint looked at the door separating the gym from the living space. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it too.”

Bobbi nodded. “I can see that. Your department isn’t built for companionship.”

“It isn’t built for long life expectancy.” Clint shoved his hands into his pockets. “I just grab whatever I can each day and make it count.”

“Like this.” Bobbi reached over and cupped Clint’s chin. “I know that look in your eyes, Barton. You deserve to be happy, and if running a gym with your best friend makes you happy, then I’ll do whatever I can to help you keep it.”

Clint leaned his cheek into his ex-wives hand. “I knew you’d have my back, babe.”

“Always.” She leaned in to kiss Clint, but Ric cleared his throat from the doorway and they jumped away from each other.

“I thought we agreed not to sleep with our students,” Ric joked as he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

“How long have you been standing there?” Clint asked, rolling his eyes.

“Hearing her call you out on your ‘I don’t deserve happiness’ bullshit,” Ric replied.

“And standing behind the door  eavesdropping ?” Clint glared.

Ric tried to look innocent, but Clint glared harder at his friend and Ric laughed. “Ok, ok, at the part talking about you being a normal person.”

Clint dropped his head into his hand and sighed as Bobbi laughed at them. Ric grinned, then held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Ric. The best friend.”

Bobbi took his hand and shook it. “I’m Bobbi, the ex-wife.”

Ric’s eyes opened wide and he looked at Clint in shock. “ _ Ex-wife?” _

“I take it he hasn’t told you?” Bobbi asked, her eyes on Clint as he whimpered softly.

“I’m still catching up on fourteen years of information,” Ric explained.

Bobbi nodded. “Yeah, Clint mentioned something about that to me just before he left. But you look like you’re recovering well.”

“I am. So, tell me about this whole marriage and divorce thing?”

Clint looked up, begging Bobbi to let him explain it. She chuckled but motioned with her hand for him to explain away. “Okay, Bobbi and I met on a job four years ago. I was in deep  cover; she was infiltrating the place. Different handlers who forgot to communicate with each other.”

Ric laughed. “Sounds like a perfect first date.”

“Anyway, we barely survived. I ended up making my hearing issues worse trying to get us free, hence the two hearing aids now instead of one.” Clint shrugged. “But in that time, we both realized just how well we clicked. So, we got married in Atlantic City before heading back to headquarters for a debrief.”

“Sitwell was so angry,” Bobbi added. “I’m pretty sure that’s why he stopped being your handler.”

“Oh, it was.  Rumlow told me he went to the bar that night and complained loudly about how I’m impossible to work with.”

Clint knew Ric was just watching the two of them banter with that silly, happy smile on his face. It was just like old times in a way back when they were teenagers and dating.

“As long as it wasn’t because you didn’t sleep with him,” Bobbi said.

“ Pssh , contrary to all the rumors around HQ, I do not sleep with  _ everyone _ . I haven’t slept with Fury,” Clint stated.

“Fury would bury you if you even tried.”

“I haven’t slept with Rumlow.”

“We’d all worry about your level of desperation if you tried.”

“I haven’t slept with Coulson.”

Bobbi laughed at that. “Not for a lack of trying.”

Clint stopped, then shrugged. “I can’t help it if he looks hot in those suits.”

Ric had been laughing behind his hand, tears in his eyes. “ So what happened to break you two us?”

“The job,” Bobbi and Clint said at the same time, and Clint rubbed the back of his neck again. “ Plus we’re both pretty stubborn,” Clint added.

“And he’s a walking disaster,” Bobbi said. “Oh, and communication issues.”

“I’m a guy, I don’t do feelings!” Clint defended himself, crossing his arms across his chest.

“See? My point exactly.” Bobbi looked at Ric with a victorious smile. “But really, we were apart more than we were together, and when we were all we did was fight.”

“And then make-up sex,” Clint added.

“Yes, the one thing that was  _ never _ an issue between us.” She gave Clint a sly look and Clint winked, returning the smirk.

“And on that note...” Ric pushed himself off the doorframe, holding his hand out to Bobbi again. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Bobbi. Feel free to stop in anytime you’re in town.”

“Same here, Ric.” She pulled Ric forward and into a hug. Clint saw Ric stiffen for barely a second before he melted into the hug, returning it in full force.

When they separated, Ric patted Clint on the shoulder. “I’m heading out. Dinner at the diner or the bar tonight?”

“Diner. Give Bea a break from your face for a few hours.” Clint playfully brushed Ric’s arm off.

“Diner it is.” Ric saluted with two fingers, then headed back into the living space. The back door slammed shut a minute later.

“Well, now that he’s gone...” Clint looked at Bobbi, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Not now,” she told him, hiking her bag up on her shoulder. “I’ll be late for my check-in. But, maybe on my way back, I can stop in and we can do dinner?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Clint walked Bobbi to the front door. He went to open it, but Bobbi grabbed his hand to stop him. “Clint, I know it’s not my place to tell you how to live your life...”

“Never stopped you before,” he pointed out.

Bobbi chuckled, squeezing his hand. “I haven’t seen you this happy since our honeymoon. You’ve got a good thing going here. Don’t let S.H.I.E.L.D. take it away from you, okay?”

“I don’t plan on it,” Clint said softly, even though his gut knew it couldn’t last forever.

“Good.” Bobbi leaned in, capturing Clint’s lips with her own. They kissed, Bobbi letting go of his hand to wrap her arms around his neck as his hands casually went to her waist. She was two inches taller than him, but it wasn’t enough to make the angle awkward.

When they separated, Bobbi pressed her forehead against Clint’s. “I’ll always love you, Clint. But you deserve more.”

“ So do you, babe.” Clint smiled softly. “I really hope you find it one day.”

“Same. For both of us.” She kissed him again, just a peck this time, before pulling away. “I really have to go. Behave yourself.”

“Always do,” he replied as he opened the door.

“That’s bullshit and we both know it.” Bobbi’s laughter filled the gym as she left, throwing a wave over her shoulder as she walked to the blue sportscar and got in. Clint watched her drive away, then went back into the gym to work off the frustration that Bobbi always left in her wake when they didn’t have time to find a dark corner.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint & Ric run into Nightwing. Things get crazier from there.

Ric and Clint were sitting on the hood of Ric’s cab eating street tacos when the radio lit up. Ric slid off, picking up the walkie and calling out for his boss to answer. When no reply came, Ric stuck his head out the door. “Clint, get in!”

Clint grabbed the bag with their food and jumped into the passenger seat. “What’s going on?”

“I think my boss just got jumped.” Ric sped off as Clint closed the door, racing for the car lot. 

“Oh  Blüdhaven , you never cease to disgust me.” Clint didn’t bother with his seatbelt, instead checking the back of the cab for weapons. “What the hell, Ric? You don’t have any weapons in the cab?”

“Weapons would just give people a reason to carjack me.”

“You live in fucking  Blüdhaven , Ric! Just breathing is a reason for getting carjacked!” Clint shifted his attention to the drawer on the dashboard. “Not even a piece in the glovebox,” he added, muttering to himself about Ric’s lack of self-preservation.

“I don’t like guns,” Ric growled in response, taking a hard right down an alley.

“I know. But I __ like guns. I’m really good with guns.”

“Guns kill people.”

“So do I.”

Ric glared at him but said nothing as they pulled into the car lot for the cab company. Leaving the car running, Ric jumped from the driver’s seat and ran to the main door, finding it locked. Clint waited, looking around the lot and taking everything in. There wasn’t any evidence of an altercation there, which meant that whatever happened was somewhere out on the streets.

“We have to find him,” Ric said, his eyes looking for something in particular. “His cab’s gone. He must have taken a fare.” 

A shadow against the streetlight caught Clint and Ric’s attention, their heads snapping up to look at the roofs of the buildings around them. Nothing was there, but Clint wasn’t convinced it had been that way a moment ago.

“You saw that, right?” Clint asked, seeing Ric in the periphery of his vision. 

Ric nodded. “We’ll worry about that second. First, let’s find Burl.”

They jumped back in the cab, and Ric called out to the other cabs to see if anyone knew where Burl’s last fare was. He got a reply, and Ric made a U-Turn that had Clint grabbing the “oh shit” handle to keep from falling out of the cab.

When they arrived, Burl’s cab was abandoned. Clint followed behind Ric, watching his friend closely. Ric might not want to be  Nightwing anymore, but Clint was all too familiar with the way his shoulders set when he slipped into detective mode. Clint left Ric to checking for clues while he tried to get into the street cams with his  Starkphone . 

“Stand down, boys,” a voice called from above them. Clint turned just as he watched— Nightwing ?!--land in front of Ric. “Oh fuck,” he muttered to himself, jogging over to join them before someone started throwing fists.

Okay, someone being Ric, but Clint may join him depending on what was happening.

He reached them as “ Nightwing ”... damnit this was going to get annoying fast... flashed a badge in their direction. Clint snorted, reaching into his pocket. “So, is it Detective  Nightwing , or Captain?” Clint held out his own badge, smirking.

The white lenses in the domino mask would hide most of the man’s reaction, but Clint saw the tiny lift of his chin. The man had met him before, Clint realized. He just had to figure it out.

“This isn’t your jurisdiction, Agent,” Nightwing said.

“Um, yeah, government agency. The entire country is my jurisdiction.” Clint put his bifold back in his pocket. “What’s the case, and how does it relate to our missing cabbie?”

“It’s a gang we’ve been chasing,”  Nightwing explained, shifting closer to Ric. “The Niners. Their latest M.O. is grabbing cabdrivers and hacking them for spare parts.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Ric said. 

“Anyway, it’s best you two stay here. You don’t know what you’d be walking into.”

“And you do?” Clint asked.

“Yes, and I can’t jeopardize this by having a civilian and a spy walking into an active crime scene.”  Nightwing moved fast, cuffing Ric’s right wrist to the handle of his cab. “Stay here, and I’ll reunite you two with the cabbie soon.”

Clint snarled as he pulled out his handcuff pick. “Entitled asshole is going to get himself killed,” he muttered as he worked to undo the cuff on the taxi. Before he could, the other end of the cuff hit the door, and Clint looked up as Ric rubbed his wrist.

“What? I guess I learned to be Houdini somewhere along the way,” Ric said with a shrug.

“I hate you,” Clint said, standing up and sliding his pic back into his boot lining. “We’re going in, I take it?”

“Of course, we’re going in.” Ric tugged on the rope he had pulled from the cab trunk. The stiffness still held onto Ric’s shoulders, and Clint could only wonder what was going through Ric’s head while seeing someone else wearing his  Nightwing suit.

_ How’d the cop get it anyway? _ Looks like Clint was going to do some investigating tomorrow. Right now, though, Clint pulled up his jeans to get the pistol strapped above his ankle. “Hopefully we’re not too late.”

Clint stayed at the door while Ric got Burl and  Nightwing ...  Copwing ?... took care of the gang members. While Ric brought Burl into the hospital to be checked over, Clint wandered his way to the Prodigal Bar for a drink while he contemplated the strange turn of events.

“Hey blondie,” Bea said as she filled three mugs from the beer tap. “Your usual?”

“Nah, I think I’m going to take Jack on a date tonight,” Clint replied, sliding onto his usual barstool. 

Bea handed the beers over, then walked to Clint. She put two whiskey glasses out, poured two fingers worth into each, and slid one to Clint. “Trouble in paradise?” Bea asked, taking a sip of her own glass after Clint did.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Clint eyed the amber liquid in the glass. 

“Is Ric okay?” 

Clint smirked a bit at the worry in Bea’s voice.  _ Yeah, she doesn’t like Ric at all _ , Clint thought, amused at them both. “Yeah, he’s fine. His boss got caught in the middle of a gang war, but hey, every night can’t be perfect, right? They’re at the hospital getting Burl checked out, but I’m sure he’ll wander over this way after.”

“Good. His tab is starting to grow again.”

“Why do you keep serving him, then?” Clint asked.

Bea downed the rest of her drink. “He has a nice ass.” Clint choked on his drink, causing Bea to laugh. “Hey, you asked.”

“I’m sorry I did.” Clint grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth with. “You know, I think I’m going to just head back. I have an early morning client so sleeping in isn’t an option for me.” Clint pulled a twenty from his wallet and held it out to her. “Think I can get a coffee to go?”

“Already had a pot brewing just before you walked in.” Bea took the money and handed him a to-go cup. “Get home safe, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clint saluted and headed out the door and for home.

The next morning came and went as Clint held two private sessions and one class in the CrossFit gym. In need of lunch and a shower, Clint crossed back into the living quarters just in time to see Ric walk in the front door.

Clint looked at the clock on the wall, then the blissful look on Ric’s face. “Someone looks happy,” Clint stated, leaning on the kitchen island.

“Shut up,” Ric said, yet he was unable to stop smiling.

Clint snorted. “Should I start planning a wedding?” he teased.

“We didn’t do anything,” Ric stated as he grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl. “We just talked.”

“Uh-huh. Dude, I left the bar just after one. It’s almost noon. That’s a long talk.”

“I know. It was amazing.” Ric stared up at the skylights as Clint rolled his eyes. “She really is amazing, Clint. I feel like I can tell her anything, and she’ll get it.”

“That’s good.” He shouldn’t be jealous, Clint knew this. What he and Ric had was way different than what Ric was getting from Bea. Clint was happy his brother had found someone he could trust in that way. He liked Bea too. She doesn’t take shit from either of them, but puts up with their antics while at the bar.

“Clint?” 

Blinking his eyes, Clint looked up from the spot on the floor he had been staring at. “Sorry, drifted off there. It’s been a long morning.”

Ric nodded. “You know I’m not choosing her over you, right?”

“I’d never ask you to choose, Dickie.” Clint flashed a smile, a bit brighter than he felt. “You  wanna confide in Bea, that’s fine.”

Sighing, Ric finished his banana and tossed the peel in the trash. “I’m going to grab a few hours of sleep before my shift.”

“That works. I’m going to grab a shower and slip out to get something to eat. Just text me when you’re up.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“I was already planning on doing this,” Clint reassured Ric. “I don’t have any afternoon sessions today, so I thought I’d check on the posters and see if I need to rehang them anywhere.”

Ric narrowed his eyes, and Clint knew he was trying to judge Clint’s honesty. Finally, he shrugged and kicked off his boots. “Don’t get into any trouble,” Ric said as he headed toward his bed.

“You’re thinking about yourself again, man.” Clint grinned. “Trouble follows you, not me.”

Ric’s hand came around the side of the crate wall and flipped Clint off. Laughing, Clint grabbed a fresh towel and headed for the bathroom. Maybe after lunch, he’d try and figure out who  Copwing was, and where he got his hands on one of Dickie’s suits. 

Probably a good idea to warn the bat brothers about the pretender. Yeah, he was  _ so _ looking forward to that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept out the actual rescue of Brul because that's written out in the comics so you can fill that bit in yourself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint decides that Jason Todd is the Batbro he's willing to talk to about Copwing. It leads to talking about other things, and them finding a small brotherhood of their own.
> 
> *Trigger Warning* There is talk about both their abusive childhoods in this. If you want to skip that, just go to the end of the chapter and I'll put the essential details in the End Chapter notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two in a weekend! Can you guess what I've been doing since I finished my thesis draft! 
> 
> So, First note: this is going to be a series now because I don't want to have a 50 chapter + fic here. I think it's less intimidating of a story when it's under 20 chapters, so there will be a break eventually. That said, I am going to create a series title so you can follow it and see when I switch to a new fic. 
> 
> The Court of Owls piece will be its own fic because there's a lot to it and it changes a lot of relationships in the aftermath. I also have one specifically for Clint's insertion into the Pennyworth RIP comic. A third will be showing how Clint came into the world of Bats and Birds at 16 (but I can't post it until the RIP fic because it has MAJOR SPOILERS [but no Stephanie]). And, there will also be a fic coming up introducing Natasha to this world, because there is no shortage of red-headed badass women in this world! After that I'm still outlining.
> 
> So yeah, in for a penny, in for a pound. Hope you guys are in for the long haul!
> 
> Now, on with the story...

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“ Ain’t it awesome?”

Clint stared up at the  Batburgers sign, a hand covering his mouth as he debated on if he should be amused or horrified at the place. Jason Todd stood next to him, hands in his leather jacket and smiling broadly. Clint wasn’t sure if it was because he liked the place, or was amused at Clint’s reaction.

Probably both.

“Wait until you see the menu.” Jason tugged on Clint’s hoodie and opened the door. Clint followed, and all the S.H.I.E.L.D. training in the world hadn’t prepared him for this form of infiltration.

Inside, the staff was dressed in costumes, portraying themselves as various members of the bat family and their gallery of rogues. Then, behind the counter stood Batman: a teenager with pimples over his face as a result of working around grease.

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating,” Clint looked at Jason, begging to  unsee the insanity. 

“Nope.” Jason popped the “p”, his amusement evident as his smile reached his eyes. “Do you want me to order for you, or think you can manage that?”

“I can order for myself.”

Jason waved his hands dramatically, motioning for Clint to precede him. Clint rolled his eyes and stormed past, heading to the counter where Bat Pimple Man waited. “Can I get a  Batburger Deluxe meal?” Clint asked, hating every word coming out of his mouth.

“Want those fries  Jokerized ?” Bat Pimple Man asked.

Clint’s eyebrows went up and he looked at Jason, who shrugged in reply. “It tastes good.”

_ I hate my life.  _ “Yes, you can  Jokerize them.”

Clint let Jason order, then paid for both their meals. When they got their food and found a booth away from other customers, Clint leaned his head back and sighed. “Tell me Bruce doesn’t know about this place.”

“Oh, he knows.” Jason bit into a fry, his smile still painted across his face. “We had a family meeting here not that long ago. He ate the burger with a knife and fork.”

Clint groaned, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Duke was horrified.” Jason sipped his drink. “So, what’s going on? I wasn’t expecting you to call for reinforcements.”

“It’s not about Ric. Well, it is about  Nightwing . Here, look at this.” Clint pulled the folded page from the newspaper out of his jacket’s inner pocket. On the front was a picture of  Copwing taking down a criminal. 

Jason slid it closer to read, then pressed a finger onto  Copwing’s face. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Some  Blüdhaven cop deciding to moonlight as  Nightwing .” Clint picked up his burger and took a bite. Not bad. It wasn’t In-and-Out, though. “I think I ran into him my first night here, but I can’t be sure.”

“How’d he get the suit?”

“That’s why I asked you to come to town. Ric, of course, doesn’t remember where any of his stashes or safe houses are. But  Copwing here must have stumbled across one.”

Jason nodded slowly. “You want me to check them out with you.”

Clint shrugged. “You’ll be the closest at cracking the passcodes.”

“Technically, Tim is the hacker, second only to Barb. I’m the expert at blowing shit up.”

Clint laughed. “I highly doubt B would skimp on your computer training.”

“And what about you?” Jason asked, pointing a fry at Clint. “You’re supposed to be the secret agent, right? Did S.H.I.E.L.D. not give you any training?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. runs on  Starktech .  Waynetech runs circles around anything Stark makes.”

“That’s true. But it could be worse.”

“Could be  Hammertech .” 

They both chuckled at that, focusing on eating for a bit. Clint finally broke the silence. “I asked you because you’re the one I remember the most, so I trust you.”

“Thanks.” Jason gave a half-smirk. “You know, I didn’t just look up to Dick when I was a kid,” he stated, focusing on the remains of his burger. “I remember following you both around when B was off with the League.”

“You’re gonna make me blush,” Clint said, shaking his head. “Anyway, Dick was the better role model. I’m just a fucked-up carnie with good aim.”

“Have you met me?” Jason laughed. “One day, I’ll tell you all about the shit I went through after I came back to life. You’ll think your life is a Hallmark movie after that.”

“May the broken- est man win,” Clint said, holding up his coffee mug. Jason laughed and tapped his cup of grape soda against it.

“So,  Copwing ? How we going to handle this?”

Clint shrugged. “I want to figure out where he got the suit, and what else he had access to. If there was a  Batcomputer terminal there, that puts all of us at risk.”

“I’ll text Tim and see if he sees any of Dick’s known stashes tripped the silent alarm.”

“That’ll work. From there we can eliminate the other ones you know of,” Clint told Jason. “You do know of a few, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve got stuff stashed in some,” Jason said while typing on his phone. “I’m banned from Gotham, but not  Blüdhaven . If I need a place to crash and get stitched up, I’d break into Dick’s place and sleep on the couch or in the hammock.”

“Still taking care of his little brother.” Clint looked out the window, watching the world pass. “I remember him after, you know.”

Jason’s eyes lifted to look at Clint, and Clint swore he saw the younger man’s eyes flash green. “Not really a good topic to bring up with me.”

“Sorry,” Clint sighed. 

Jason took a deep breath, counting to five as he let it out. “You didn’t know. It’s cool.”

Clint decided to change topics. “So where did Damian come from?” he asked as he took a swig of coffee.

“Bruce and Talia al Ghul .”

The coffee sprayed against the window. Clint coughed while Jason laughed, handing him napkins. “Guy leaves town for five years and the place goes to hell.”

“Technically it was already there. It is Gotham.”

Well, Clint would give Jason that point. 

Jason knew Clint was about to ask for more detail when something in the kitchen fell, breaking. He saw Clint flinch at that, how his hands snapped under the table and away from the tray and cup. 

Jason knew what that meant. Knew what would cause that kind of reaction.

He hated knowing what would cause that.

He really hated seeing Clint react like that.

He could feel the anger boil, the madness starting to creep up in his head. No one should ever have to deal with that kind of pain. 

And suddenly it made sense. Dick had known how to deal with Jason when he was first brought into the Wayne family. But Dick’s parents had been loving people, so Jason never understood... until now.

Some part of Clint was just as broken as Jason was, and Dick saw that. Clint too, since Jason remembered that the man didn’t treat him with kid gloves, but still took notice of his triggers.

Jason really wanted to murder someone.

“Barton, you okay?” Jason asked softly, trying to get Clint to look up. Clint’s eyes were staring at the table, and he could see Clint focusing on his breathing.

Clint nodded, looking up while his hand rubbed over his right ear. “Yeah, just... zoned for a second.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here and get to work.” Jason slid out of the booth, gathering their combined garbage. Clint nodded and slid out, his hands moving into his purple hoodie’s pockets as he waited for Jason. They walked out together, a silence between them that hadn’t been there before.

A different set of eyes watched the two men leave. A smile came to his face as he touched his earbud. “I’ve identified the complication. One of our lost birds has come back to the nest.”

“How do you want to  h andle this?”

“Make another set of eyes. Designation: Talon Hawkeye. Adjust it for him to have all his memories when implemented.”

“And the Gray Son?”

“I’ll have a new narrative for them both in the morning. How long will it take to reload?”

“After making another set, it’ll take three weeks to write the code, and another one to edit the first.”

“Good. Don’t rush this. We won’t get a second chance.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clint didn’t know how to restart the conversation after they left the restaurant. He just shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the ground ahead of them as Jason worked on his phone.

“Tim says the subway stash is offline,” Jason said, pocketing his phone. “That one isn’t far from here.”

“First stop then,” Clint said, not looking up. He knew he was probably frustrating Jason with his silence, but he was too busy pushing back the bad memories of his childhood without burdening it on the other man.

What he wasn’t expecting for Jason to start talking. “I don’t know if you learned about why B adopted me.”

“I remember you were stealing the tires from the Batmobile, called him a boob and hit him with the tire iron.” Clint’s lips lifted into a quick smirk. “I knew I would like you instantly.”

Jason chuckled. “Yeah, but did you know why I was doing it?”

“Something about your dad being in jail and your mom died. Figured you were living on the streets, trying to survive. Better than foster care.” Clint heard the bite to his last words and sighed.

Licking his lips, Jason put a hand on Clint’s shoulder, stopping them both. “My dad was an asshole. He got mom addicted to drugs, which she’d OD from later on. But when they were together... they’d fight.”

Clint looked up at Jason. The green eyes were swirling, and Jason’s jaw was clenched. “I’d hide under the table with our dog, trying to stay out of his way. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.” Jason shrugged but looked Clint in the eyes. “I just thought you’d like to know you weren’t alone.”

“Thanks,” Clint said, not really sure what else he could say. He didn’t like talking about his parents, so he was sure Jason didn’t like thinking about his past either. “I, um...” 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Jason reassured him. 

“Oh, so you share your horrors but don’t want to hear mine?” Clint’s joke fell flat, but Jason snorted. “You’re ruining your reputation, Hood.”

“Only if you tell others. Then I might have to kill you.”

“You can try.” Clint smiled now. 

“Come on, the station is around the corner.” Jason pulled on Clint’s jacket, and as they turned the corner, the subway station came into view—including the caution police tape crisscrossing the entrance.

“I think we found the right place,” Clint said, heading to the entrance and lifting the tape. “After you?”

“Sure, let me go first and get eaten by monsters. I see how this is going.” Jason ducked under the tape, turning his phone’s flashlight on. Clint followed behind him, his own phone glowing.

The smell of burnt sewage greeted them. Jason quickly pulled his facemask on, then tossed a breather to Clint, for which he was very grateful. They moved further back, seeing the charred remains of boxes and computer terminals. “Now we know why it’s offline,” Jason said, his voice modified from the mask’s electronics.

“Who would do this?” Clint asked.

“Well, if he remembered its location, I wouldn’t put it past Ric.” Jason jumped from the landing down into the train tunnel. It was an abandoned section of track, which would make it a perfect location to get a quick-change station. “He was pretty hard set on not being a part of the family from what Alfred told me.”

“Yeah, well B put him through hell from what he told me. Can’t blame him.”

“Oh, I don’t blame him either. B can be a self-serving asshole when he’s emotional.” Jason knelt down to look at the footprints in front of the broken tanks that normally held their suits. “You know he took me back to the place I was murdered in an effort for me to figure out how I can back to life?”

“That’s fucked up.” Clint counted the number of tanks. “Four tanks, four  Nightwing suits missing. I think we found the place. Question is, is it one guy with four changes of suits, or are we going to see more  Copwings springing up?”

“Either way, whoever did this didn’t know that our suits are all fireproof.” Jason went to the metal drawers just past them and pulled one open. “And there goes all the toys.”

“ So, he not only has suits but the belts and gadgets too? Great.”

Jason took off his helmet then rubbed his forehead. “I really should let the others know.”

“ B’ll learn sooner or later,” Clint said with a shrug. “I doubt news of this  Copwing will stay here. Gotham’s bound to pick up on it.”

“That’s just what we need, Batman arriving and trying to glare down four  Nightwings instead of one.” Jason laughed. 

“If I’m there when it happens, I’ll facetime you in.”

“Awesome.”

They lapsed back into silence, picking through the pieces that lay scattered on the ground. Anything that looked like it was salvageable, Jason snuck into one of his jacket pockets. Anything else he or Clint smashed with their boots.

Jason was checking the condition of the motorcycle when Clint spoke. “That’s how I lost my hearing,” he said softly, looking at the brick wall and not Jason.

“What?” Jason asked, and Clint could feel his eyes on him.

“My dad. He, um... he was a drunk too. I usually got the worst of it. I guess he just didn’t think I was man enough for him as a toddler.” Clint shifted his hand through the charred objects in front of him before opening the medical kit to see if anything inside was salvageable. “One day when I was five, I wasn’t able to get away fast enough. He slammed my head against the sink really hard, and it did something to my ears. I lost eighty percent in my right ear, and twenty in the other. While I was healing, I couldn’t hear anything, especially him approaching me.”

“Shit,” Jason whispered. Clint turned to face him, finding Jason standing by the motorcycle. He was stiff, his teeth peeking out as he bit his lip, and his eyes narrowed in anger. Clint gave him a small smile before looking at the wall behind him.

“They died when I was six. We were put into the system and jumped from one shitty family to another until Barney suggested we run away with the circus that was in town. He was trying to protect me from getting abused further, so we did. I met Dickie that first winter.”

“Card-carrying members of the shitty dad society,” Jason joked to break the tension, and Clint laughed.

“Yeah, I guess we are.” Clint tossed the medical kit to Jason as it was untouched inside thanks to the metal box. “Why don’t we get out of here and get something warm to drink?”

“Sure,” Jason said as he caught the box and tucked it under his arm. “There’s a coffee place not far from here. Easy walk from your place and the barista has her own secret menu.”

“Sounds good to me.” Clint went to move past Jason, stopping as the other man placed a hand on Clint’s shoulder and squeezed. Clint looked at him, then nodded a silent thanks before leading the way back into the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who skipped, here's the chapter breakdown:
> 
> * Clint tells Jason about Copwing while eating at Bat Burgers.  
> * They decide to go look at Nightwing's stashes around the city to see which one the cop got the uniform from  
> * WILLIAM COBB IS IN BATBURGERS WATCHING THEM!!!! (very important!!!)  
> * After a plate breaks, Jason sees Clint's flinch and he knows what would cause that kind of reaction  
> * Jason talks about his past with his parents to let Clint know he's not alone.  
> * They find the burnt-out remains of the stash that Ric torched back after returning to the city. They take what can be salvaged, and destroy everything else further so it won't be hacked.  
> * The point out that there were four suits taken. So far only one Copwing. Where'd the other three go?  
> * Clint opens up to Jason about how he lost his hearing and why he joined the circus.  
> * Silent moment between them with the manly shoulder squeeze of solidarity.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Ric have a bit of broship time. It is the silence before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a bit of liberty on Ric meeting the Nightwings timeline in canon versus in this fic. I'm doing that mainly so I could get this crack in before the Scarecrow arc that comes next in the books.
> 
> Enjoy!

“There’s more than one now,” Ric said as he washed his face in the kitchen sink.

“More than one what?” Clint asked, sitting on the island, sipping his third cup of coffee. 

“Nightwing.”

_ Well that answers the mystery of the multiple missing suits.  _ He’d text Jason later with the update. “What, does being a cop not provide enough adrenaline for these guys?”

“Three guys, one girl.”

Clint blinked. “Which suit is the woman in?”

“The blue and gold one with the high collar?” Ric dried his face with paper towels, the black grease stain gone from his eyes so he no longer resembled a raccoon.

Clint snorted into his mug. “The first one. Oh man, th at poor woman.”

“It didn’t look bad on her.”

“Yeah, that's the same argument you made when you wore it. But you were also sporting a mullet back then. We were more concerned that you lost your fashion sense.”

Ric rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I ever want to remember that.”

“Best that you don’t.” Clint chuckled. “Still not over the mullet.”

Tossing the towels in the garbage, Ric moved past Clint and opened the fridge. “So, what are we heating up for breakfast?”

“Tossup between the pizza we got the other day or your infinite supply of cereal.”

Ric looked at the nearly empty gallon of milk and sighed. “Why is the milk gone?” he whined.

“Because you drank it all, asshole.” Clint looked over his shoulder to see inside of the fridge. “We’re running out of a lot of things. I was going to make a grocery run but I can only carry so much on my bike.”

“How about I catch a nap, then we both go?”

Clint shrugged. “Sure. I mean, what could go wrong?”

“Sirs, the shopping carts are not intended for races down the aisles.” The store manager stood over both Ric and Clint. They were on the floor because the shopping carts had tipped over while trying to run them down the natural food aisle. Other patrons stood around in a half-circle to see what was going on.

“Okay, this looks bad…” Clint started to say while turning his cart over, “but I assure you, we had a reason for doing this.”

Ric flipped up to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was a science experiment.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah. We were doing it for science!”

The manager was unamused. “Do you intend to purchase those groceries you were using… ‘for science’?”

“Of course.” Ric picked up the gallon of milk, which hadn’t burst when it hit the floor, but a good amount had dribbled out of the top where it had come ajar. “I think we have everything, right Clint?”

The manager looked at Clint, who gulped before plastering the biggest smile on his face. “I think so, but perhaps we should grab a Swiffer and clean up this mess so the poor employees don’t have to clean up after us.”

Ric blinked at him, confused until Clint looked pointedly at the pool of milk spreading like it was blood at a crime scene. “Oh, yeah. Let me go grab one.”

The manager waited until they cleaned up the mess and paid for their groceries, walking them to the door and watching them head down the street. They waited until they had rounded the corner before stopping and laughing.

“I don’t think we’re going to be allowed in there anymore,” Ric said, wiping tears from his eyes.

“No, probably not. I guess I’ll have to put in for some delivery service.” Clint was bent over, trying to catch his breath. “I can see why Alfred never let any of us go food shopping with him.”

Ric’s laughter faded, and Clint cursed to himself. He was about to apologize but Ric held a hand up to stop him. “You can stop walking on those eggshells around me, Clint.”

“I just didn’t want to upset you.” Clint stood as the amusement turned into  an  awkward silence between them. Finally , Clint broke it. “When I got here, you were very gung-ho about wanting nothing to do with the Waynes or Nightwing, and I’m trying to respect that boundary.”

“I know, and I’m grateful for that.” Ric picked up his grocery bags and guided Clint back to the cab. “And it helped. You were the only one who didn’t look at me expecting to see someone else. You took me as who I am, not what I was.”

“Well, that’s how the world should work, Dickie.” Clint dumped the bags into the trunk. “I’ve done a lot of crappy things in my life, and probably double that amount in stupid. But even with the personas I put on to shield me from the world, the core of me is still the same. It’s that way for you too.”

Ric nodded, staring off into the depths of his trunk. Another silence followed, then Ric turned his head to look at Clint. “Do you think I was wrong to run from them?”

“No, I don’t,” Clint leaned against the side of the cab with crossed arms. “I think what they did to you with revealing the cave and all was a classic B being a dumbass move.” Ric chuckled at that. “I would have run for the hills if I was in your situation too. It was too much, too fast, with too many expectations put on you when you were still healing.”

“And yet, here I am running around with a bunch of Nightwings thinking I can help them when it should be me in the costume.”

Clint put a hand on Ric’s shoulder. “Part of your core is the desire to help people. It always has been, always will be. Not many people love and trust others as openly as you do. It’s one of your best features.”

“It just feels… right. Like who I was meant to be. I just don’t know if it’s true, or what Wayne burned into my psyche.”

“Dickie, if it wasn’t what you wanted to do, you’d have never put on the tights in the first place.” Clint squeezed his shoulder. “You know how to fly, and I’m certain you’re enjoying the adrenaline high that comes with the mask and capes lifestyle. If it feels right, stay with it.”

Ric nodded, a smile returning to his face as he closed the trunk. “Then I’m going to keep going.”

“Good. And hey, who knows? Maybe it will lead to your memories getting unlocked.” Clint opened his door. “But first, let’s stop by the coffee house. My treat.”

“They do have good hot chocolate,” Ric grinned over the top of the cab, and they both climbed in.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scarecrow is in Blüdhaven and both Ric and Clint are at Ground Zero. They have different reactions to the fear toxin, one slightly more deadly than the other.

Ric stood on top of his cab, watching as people scattered like scared cattle. Nightwing Blue was down, and Nightwing Red was trying to help assess his situation. Ric could handle this and back them up.

That was when he saw the green smoke coming from under the taco truck. That had to be the cause, so he needed to figure out how to turn it off. Then the freak came out of nowhere with a noose around his neck. Who the fuck does that?

When the situation was over, Ric started back for his cab when he heard whimpering coming from down the alley. The Nightwings were busy dealing with the cops, so Ric used it as a path to slip away.

“Hello? Is someone down here?” Ric asked as he tucked his makeshift weapon into his belt. “Are you hurt?”

“Stay away!” the voice was familiar, and as Ric walked past the dumpster, he realized why. “Clint!”

“I swear I didn’t do it!” Clint shouted, throwing his arms up as if protecting himself from an upcoming attack. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

Ric lowered himself down to be eye level with his best friend. There were scratches on Clint’s arms and neck, and one of his hearing aids was missing. Ric looked at the ground and saw it smashed at the mouth of the alley.

Then it hit him: the taco truck was the one Clint liked. _Shit._

“Clint, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re sitting in an alley in Blüdhaven.”

Clint looked between his arms, not dropping the defensive position. “Dickie?” he asked, his voice so small and scared that it nearly brought tears to Ric’s eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Ric didn’t have car exhaust to make Clint breathe, nor any kind of air filter like the Nightwings had. It was obvious that he wasn’t immune to the gas like Ric seemed to be. “What are you seeing?”

Clint gulped, trying to make himself smaller as he pressed into the side of the dumpster. “They’ve come back to try and kill me. I can’t go through that again. I don’t want to die.”

“Shhh,” Rich tried to hush Clint, but it wasn’t working. “Close your eyes, Clint.” Clint did as he was told, burying his eyes into his knees. “Do you see them now?”

“No…” Clint shook his head.

“Okay, good.” Ric stood up, putting a hand on Clint’s arm. “Keep your eyes closed. Put your hand over them just to make sure.”

Ric helped Clint stand, and then carefully guided him back to where the cab still sat, idling in the street. Clint jumped occasionally at the loud noises in the street but made it out of the alley. He helped Clint into the back. “You’re in the back of the cab. Stay here and I’ll get you home soon.”

He jogged over to the Nightwings, catching the last of their conversation with the detective. When she got in her police car, Ric put a hand on Nightwing Lead’s shoulder. “I’ve got to go. I’ll find you another day.”

“You better. We need to seriously talk about this.” Lead waved at Ric’s makeshift costume.

Ric gave him a quick salute and ran back to the cab. He checked the back to find Clint curled up on the seats, legs pulled in tight. Clint flinched at the sound of Ric getting into the driver’s seat. “It’s just me. I’m going to take you home. Just keep your eyes closed and take deep breaths, alright?”

Clint nodded. The cab was old enough that some of the exhaust seeped into the back, and Ric could only hope it was enough to help his brother.

It was a new record on how fast Ric got back to the warehouse. Once he got Clint inside, Ric sat him on the edge of the bed. “Okay, we’re home. It’s safe.”

Clint opened his eyes and looked at Ric, starting to smile before his eyes went wide and Clint pushed away from Ric. “No, no they’re behind you. Watch out!”

Ric looked over his shoulder but didn’t see anything. “We’re all alone, Clint. It’s just a reaction to the drugs. We need to clear it from your system.”

“No, get out of the way! I won’t let them hurt you too.” Clint moved faster than Ric expected, and two gunshots hit the wall for the bathroom.

“Whoa, Clint what the fuck?” Ric jumped out of the line of fire, realizing that this was more than he could handle on his own.

“Think, Grayson,” he muttered to himself as he watched Clint’s eyes flit around the room, his gun hands trembling. “Do I call 911 for this?”

A phone vibrated from where Ric had thrown Clint’s jacket when they entered. Ric pulled it out, seeing a text message.

_Heard Scarecrow in ur area. U 2 ok? - J.T._

Ric licked his lips, debating on hitting the call button. Two more gunshots and he heard wood crack from one of the training posts. _Fuck it._ He pressed the call button, putting himself out of Clint’s view.

“Everything okay?” The voice on the other end was deep, scratchy, and concerned. Ric couldn’t picture the face that went to it, but he had heard it before. “Clint?”

Ric cleared his throat. He could do this. “No, it’s me.”

“Ric?” More confusion filtered through the phone. The person hadn’t been expecting him to answer. “What’s going on? Is Clint ok?”

“No. No, he’s not,” Ric admitted. “There was this gas and he’s freaking out. I don’t know what to do.”

“Alright, I’ll talk you through this. Have you rediscovered your Batcave yet?”

“The one at the subway station? Yeah, I torched it.”

“No, the one below your warehouse.” There was a pause and the sound of a motorcycle starting. “Where is he right now?”

“Bedroom area.” Ric peeked his head out and saw Clint on the floor, putting the bed between him and whatever he was seeing.

“Think you can knock him out?”

“What?” Ric saw Clint look his direction; his gun aim following. Ric ducked back behind the crate wall before the bullet whizzed past him and into the kitchen.

“Who’s shooting?” The voice growled over the phone.

“Clint. He’s hallucinating, and I’m pretty sure I know about who.”

Another growl. “Well, seeing that he’s shooting at his nightmares, it’s safer for both of you if he’s unconscious. Can you do it?”

Ric licked his lips and nodded. He then realized whoever was on the phone couldn’t see it. “Yeah.”

“Good. Do it, then come back to me.”

Ric put the phone down and cracked his knuckles. _Sorry, Clint._ Ric knew this was going to hurt, but Clint was deadly with any weapon at his disposal. He removed his boots, then started to climb the crates slowly until he could grab the exposed water pipe. Pulling himself up, Ric slowly walked along the pipe until he was directly over Clint.

Without a word, he slid off the pipe and dropped himself right on Clint’s shoulders. His thighs wrapped around Clint’s neck while he tried to trap his gun arm with his own arm.

Clint howled in fear, pushing them both back as the crates fell over, smashing into the ground. Ric kept his legs crossed and tight, hoping to cut off Clint’s oxygen long enough to knock him out. “Come on, Clint. Don’t make this harder on both of us.”

“Get the... fuck... of me...” Clint was losing his ability to breathe, but he wasn’t going to pass out without a fight. He struggled to stand up, lifting Ric’s weight along with his own. It worked, only to send them both headfirst onto the floor.

Ric tried to turn his head, but he wasn’t fast enough as the impact broke his nose. He cursed, tasting blood as it flowed from his nose to his mouth. Meanwhile, Clint released his gun, fingers digging into Ric’s thigh to get air. Out of spite, Ric squeezed his legs again, not releasing them until Clint’s pawing at his arms stopped. When Ric released him, Clint was out cold.

Checking for a pulse and breathing, Ric sighed in relief that Clint had both. Ric then pulled himself up and hobbled back to the phone, his thighs protesting his movement. “Still there?”

“Yeah. You okay?”

“I’m fine. Clint’s going to be sore in the morning.” Ric grabbed a paper towel to stop his nose from bleeding. “So, what do I do now?”

“Alright, you see that fuse box by the fridge?”

“How do you know so much about this place?” Ric asked as he walked across the kitchen to open the box, staring at a bunch of switches.

“I used to crash there when I needed medical help.” Ric could hear the motorcycle in the background, and he had a feeling whoever J.T. was, he was on his way to help. “Look at the bottom. You should see space where you can slide your fingers behind. There’s a button in there. Tap it.”

Ric did as he was told, and his middle finger found the button and tapped it like a mouse. The panel started to lift on its own, and Ric found himself facing a green glowing panel and two red lights aimed at his eyes. “Okay, now what?”

“It’s a biometric reader. Right hand on the green pad and look at the red lights.”

It was something in his own home. It couldn’t hurt him. Ric used that as reassurance as he touched the pad. It vibrated under his palm while the red lights grew brighter. “Identity confirmed: Nightwing,” A robotic female voice cooed at him.

Compressed air hissed next to him, and Ric jumped as the fridge and electric stove started to slide forward until their fronts rested against the island. Where they had sat was now a staircase leading down into the glow of blue lights.

“I think I found the Batcave,” Ric stated, shaking his head.

“Alright, I’m five minutes out. Can you get Clint down there on your own?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a medical cot down there. Get him set up and I will show you how to run the tests to figure out what he got hit with.”

“Okay.”

Whoever J.T. was hung up first, leaving Ric contemplating what to do. First, he slipped both cell phones into his jean pockets, then approached his unconscious friend. “Remind me to thank you later for helping me get back into shape,” Ric muttered as he picked Clint up and threw him over his shoulder, carrying the archer into the Batcave fireman style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter throws comic canon out the window for the rest of the fic. Why? Let's just say you all know who J.T. is and who he is to Ric. 
> 
> Also, I hate the whole "leave Ric alone" edict (if you couldn't tell) when it comes to the Robins. We gonna change that MWA HA HA


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ric finally meets his brother Jason. It's awkward, but at least they aren't trying to kill each other. 
> 
> This time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, guys. This week has just been horrible, leading to the death of my father yesterday. I'm hoping that writing this fic on and off this week will help distract me from reality, but if there's a longer delay, I apologize.
> 
> Anyway, in looking over my timeline, I think we're almost at the end of this "chapter" in the Lone Hawk series. There's maybe one or two chapters left to go, and then a time skip into a new fic which is more Clint-centric with a certain kickass redhead entering this world. :)
> 
> I really hope you've been enjoying this story so far!

Jason pulled up to the backside of Ric’s warehouse, his Red Hood helmet still on. He left the remnants of a drug bust to rush from the docks here. Clint had taken in Scarecrow’s fear gas and it was bad enough that Ric called him for help.

After the other day searching for Dick’s stashes, Jason formed a kinship to Clint that wasn’t present when Jason was Robin. In fact, it felt like he had more in common with the archer than he did with any of his Bat brothers. It was odd, but after Roy’s death, it was nice to have someone he could relate to in his life again.

He wasted no time picking the locks to get into the warehouse, then heading down into the Batcave. Clint was on the cot, wearing only his undershirt and boxers, arms and legs strapped down. Next to him, Ric was leaning agains t a supply cabinet. His arms were crossed, fingers nervously tapping on his bicep as he watched Clint with a worried expression that Jason knew all too well.

If it wasn’t for the short hair and the visible scar, Jason could have sworn he was looking at his brother again, and not the virtual stranger wearing his skin. “How is he?” Jason asked.

Ric shook his head. “He hasn’t woken up, but I can tell he’s dreaming.” 

“Well, let’s get some answers.” Jason walked over to Clint . “Do you feel like you remember any of your medical training?”

“I have medical training?” Ric asked, eyes widening.

Jason was so glad he had his helmet on. In fact, this was why he still had it on—he didn’t want Ric to see his facial expressions or eyerolls. The guy was dealing with enough at this point.  “We need to get him on oxygen, get a saline drip to flush the drug from his system, and take a blood sample to analyze how to make a cure for whatever Scarecrow cooked up this time.”

Ric nodded , pushing off the cabinet. “Alright. Let me see what’s in here.” He turned and opened the cabinet then just stood there, blinking a moment, before shaking his head and grabbing the supplies. “You wanna take the sample while I get up the rest?”

“Sure.”

Ric handed Jason a syringe and a blood collection tube, then got to work getting tubing out for the IV and oxygen. Jason ignored him and was about to roll up Clint’s sleeve when he stopped. “Gloves,” Jason said, holding his hand out.

“Oh, right.” Reaching into the cabinet, he tossed Jason a pair before putting one on himself. 

Jason snapped them on. “I’m more worried about the residue of the gas on his skin. Before we set up the IV, we should wipe him down.”

Ric nodded. “Good point. That’ll eliminate any recontamination.” 

“Have you showered yet?” Jason asked.

“No , but it didn’t hit me,” Ric said.

“If you found him and touched him, you’re contaminated.”

Pausing from his oxygen setup, Ric thought about it. “I’ll go after I finish this.”

Jason just nodded. He turned to the shelves behind him and grabbed a packet of baby wipes. He worked first on the IV arm, cleaning it from top to bottom. Another baby wipe to clean his gloves, then Jason focused on getting the catheter in to draw blood and then set up the IV.

Ric grabbed Clint’s clothes and started for upstairs. “Shout for me if he wakes up,” Ric ordered. 

“I will.”

Once Ric was gone, Jason stepped away and stripped off his gloves, then removed his helmet. He could see through it just fine, but he needed more precision while doing this. He put it on the staircase, then went to the cabinet for another set of gloves. 

“You really can’t stay out of trouble for a single day, can you?” Jason spoke to Clint as he took the blood sample, then finished the IV and started the saline drip. Clint remained silent, his breaths wheezing due to the bruise forming on his neck. 

Jason started cleaning Clint’s face, hair, and neck next, taking care to wipe the oxygen hose as well before placing it back into Clint’s nose. Same with the hearing aid. Jason was sure Clint waking up while still dealing with the gas would go a lot worse if he did it in complete silence. 

“You know, if you wanted a sponge bath, you could have just asked. No need to get gassed.”

Starting on Clint’s other left arm, Jason noticed the litany of cuts and marks that scarred Clint’s skin. While certain that most of these came from his job, Jason noticed other marks that were too old to be work-related. 

He traced a peculiar one with the wipe: a long, jagged scar starting at the shoulder and curving down to the armpit. Jason stared at it long enough that he didn’t realize Ric had returned until he cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” Jason said, quickly finishing the arm cleaning before tossing the wipe and gloves away.

“I remember that one.” Ric sat on the stairs, watching Jason carefully. “He was training with the Swordman at the time. Clint was trying to show off since I was watching, and he was dropping his guard, so Swordman taught him a lesson.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few lesson scars on my body too.” Jason grabbed the blood sample and moved to the computer. He sat in the chair and woke the CPU from a long period of sleep mode. When he started to type, a window popped up and demanded a password. “Shit,” he muttered when his own was denied.

“What?” Ric asked from the staircase. He held Jason’s helmet, peeking inside of it.

“I need your password to get in.” Jason turned to look at him, watching Ric attempt to put the red helmet on.

“I have no idea what it would be.” Ric shrugged, then stared into the eyes of the helmet. “How do you see out of this thing?”

Jason stood up. “I use my eyes. Now can you at least try? Maybe your muscle memory will know what to type?”

“Fine.” Ric tossed the helmet to Jason and got up, moving to the computer. He leaned over the keyboard, thinking what he might use as a password. He let his fingers do their own thing, but it didn’t work. He tried again, and the password box turned red. “I didn’t do anything,” he said quickly.

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t try again. Time to call in the big guns.” He put his helmet on and tapped the soft spot near his ear. “Oracle, you online?”

“Oracle?” Ric asked just as Jason heard Barbara Gordon’s voice answer with a, “Yeah, Hood. What’s up?”

“I need you to hack into Grayson’s mainframe and bypass the password for me,” Jason stated.

“I don’t need to hack it; I know all his passwords.” Jason could hear the keyboard clicking as Babs typed. “What I want to know is how you’re accessing the mainframe in the first place?”

“Long story. Short version is I need to run a tox screen on a blood sample and synthesize an antidote.”

“I heard Scarecrow was in Blüdhaven. Is Dick alright?”

Jason looked at Ric, watching the man as he found a blanket in the cabinet and shook it out before covering Clint with it. Jason doubted Ric could hear Bab’s side of the conversation, which was good. “Oh, he’s fine.”

“Who got hit?” The computer unlocked and Oracle’s symbol watermarked the screen. She opened the program to run the toxin screen and a drawer popped out of a black box.

“A friend.” Jason put the vial of Clint’s blood into the box and closed the drawer. The machine started whirling, working on the sample. He sat back down at the computer, leaning back and watching the stages of the program. 

Only when Jason felt the chair lean back further did he know Ric had joined the watch party, his arms crossed over the top of the chair. “How’s it going?”

“Almost done,” Jason told him.

The screening results came up, along with a basic medical file for Barton, Clinton Francis.  _ Of course, he’s in the Batfiles _ , Jason mused.

“What... Jason, when did Clint show back up in town?” Bab’s voice jumped an octave, making Jason wince.

“Calm down Ba—Oracle. He showed up a few weeks ago,” Jason stated. 

“You know Bruce is going to freak out,” Babs said. “They did  _ not _ end on the best of terms.”

“Yeah, well look at all the fucks I give,” Jason said, leaning his head back. “I’ve got the results, thanks.”

“We’re going to have a long talk later,” Babs threatened, then hung up on him. The Oracle watermark disappeared from the screen as well.

Ric was still staring at the screen, his lips moved as he read the formula silently. “Looks like we need to mix those chemicals for the antidote,” he said a moment later, pointing to a second formula.

Jason walked to the synthesizer and opened the top. Small plastic spikes aimed upwards, waiting for medical bottles to adorn them. He slid the desk drawer to him, looking at vial after vial of liquid chemicals. “Read them off to me,” he ordered.

Ric did so, and Jason pulled each out and attached them to a spike. When he had them all, he opened the second drawer and pulled out a large bottle of saline and four empty vials. He closed the top of the synthesizer and opened the front, pulling out a tray for the vials. Jason connected a spike at the end of a tube to the saline, then shoved it in first before putting the four vials in the tray’s holder and returning it to the machine, closing the front as well.

“So how long will this take?” Ric asked, rubbing at his eyes as he yawned.

Jason leaned against the desk. “At least an hour. Maybe two.” He looked at the monitor, squinting at the tiny bat symbol that appeared in the corner of the screen. “Why don’t you grab some sleep? I’ll wake you up if Clint comes around.”

“I’m fine,” Ric said.

“You just took down a supervillain. No one, least of all Clint, is going to blame you for taking a nap while he’s out.” 

“I need to be here when he wakes up.” Ric walked over to check on Clint, his head drooping after verifying that the oxygen tank was still going.

“And you won’t be if you keep pushing past your exhaustion.” Jason moved to sit back in the desk chair, spinning it to face Ric. “I swear, I’ll wake you up when either the antitoxin is finished, or if Clint wakes.” Jason took a deep breath, looking at his hands and feeling awkward. “Please.”

Ric looked over at him, his face softening. “You’re Jason Todd, aren’t you?” he asked, and Jason looked up with wide eyes. “Clint’s talked about you. It makes sense now that I think of the initials and that text message.”

“I know you wanted us to stay away--”

Ric shook his head. “You just helped me save my best friend’s life. I think I’ll get over it.” He flashed Jason a smirk. “If you don’t wake me up, I am going to kick your ass.”

Jason laughed. “You can try.”

Squeezing Clint’s hand once, Ric turned and made his way upstairs. Jason waited, listening for the tell-tale sound of his brother crashing into a mattress before spinning back to the computer and selecting the incoming message from the main Batcave.

Batman appeared on the screen, and he didn’t seem surprised to see Jason. Not that Jason cared, but he was hoping for that little twitch in Bruce’s jaw that signaled surprise. “Before you ask, Ric is safe and upstairs sleeping.”

“You were supposed to stay away.”

“Yeah, well you also told me to stay out of Gotham and that I’d eventually come to like cucumber sandwiches.” Jason held out his arms and shrugged. “You should know better to tell me not to do something.”

“Jason.” 

“He called me, Bats.” Ah, there was the twitch. “He needed help, he reached out, I came. End of story.”

Silence hung between them a moment, then Batman tried to look beyond Jason. “I want to see him.”

“I told you, Ric is upstairs...”

“Not Ric.” Batman glared back at Jason. “Clint Barton. You ran a toxin screen on him which automatically checked his DNA and alerted me. Where is he and what happened?”

Jason leaned back, crossing his arms. “Wow, concerned about someone not wearing a bat. This is new.”

Batman closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Now.”

“Sheesh.” Jason stood up and moved the chair out of the way, allowing the computer to see Clint on the bed just past the stairs. “There, he’s unconscious. I added a sedative into the saline to keep him asleep until we had an antitoxin ready.”

When Batman stood up, leaning forward to get closer to the screen, Jason realized this was more than Batman checking on a possible threat to Ric. This was Bruce wanting to see Clint’s condition.  _ That’s very interesting _ , Jason thought, making a mental note to follow up on this later.

“Status?”

“He was at the epicenter of whatever Scarecrow’s toxin of the month was. You've probably already looked it over.” Jason crossed his arms. “Ric said he was hallucinating. First, he was scared, but then he turned violent. That’s why I’m keeping him under.”

“I’m having the antitoxin produced at S.T.A.R. labs in Blüdhaven, and I’ve alerted the BPD.” Batman was back, Bruce’s concern hidden back behind the cowl once more. “I expect a status report by morning.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “I’m not allowed back home, but you want me to still do paperwork?”

“Ten AM.” 

The signal cut out, leaving Jason staring dumbfoundedly at the screen. He sighed and sat back down, pulling up the case file database and looked for the mission report template. “This is why I like working with the Outlaws. No paperwork.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint recovers, Ric & Jason talk, and things end happily ever after.
> 
> No wait, this is DC verse. There are no happy endings, which Clint realizes the moment a familiar face walks into the gym.

The world was dark when Clint opened his eyes, finally escaping the nightmares of being constantly beaten and trying to fight back. His hearing aid was in, allowing Clint to hear the hiss of an oxygen tank sending air to his mask. He groaned, raising his hand to paw at the uncomfortable plastic covering the lower half of his face.

“Don’t do that.”

Ric walked into Clint’s line of sight. Beyond looking like he could use a long nap, Ric looked fine. Clint was relieved, even as he was unsure why he was currently on a gurney with an oxygen mask. Clint tried to ask what happened, but his throat hurt trying to form the first syllable so he asked with his hands instead.

“You got hit with a fear toxin. I tried to help, but you got your hands on a gun and I had to take you down. Sorry.” Ric offered a small shrug with a smile. “Good news is that you didn’t shoot me.”

 _I want to right now_ , Clint signed.

“When you’re recovered.” Ric carefully removed the IV from Clint’s arm. “You were in the epicenter of the toxin release. You’re lucky I even found you.”

Clint nodded and looked around the room they were in. It was still dark, but there was a blue glow coming from just beyond his feet. It was also cold, even under the blanket Clint realized was over him. _Where are we?_

“Basement of the warehouse. Seems we have our own personal Batcave.” Clint blinked and started to sit up, but Ric pressed a hand against Clint’s chest to keep him down. “Hey, rest.”

_How did you find a Batcave? We’ve been over every inch of this place._

“Your friend JT.” Ric looked to his left and Clint followed his line of sight. Stretched out along the width of the stairs was Jason Todd, arms crossed and head dropped as he slept. His Red Hood mask sat on the step above, staring at them both. “He also helped make the antitoxin for you.”

_Are you mad?_

Ric shook his head. “You were upfront from the start about being in touch with these brothers I have. It’s... weird, but he helped save your life, so I can handle the weird.”

_Sorry._

“Now stop waving your arms around and rest.” Ric glared at him. “Or I’ll tell your new boyfriend embarrassing stories from our childhood. I still remember all of those.”

A string of creative curse signs flew at Ric, who just laughed. _Not my boyfriend. We’re friends._

“That’s right,” Jason spoke as he stretched. “But I’m still down for hearing these stories.”

Ric laughed as Clint signed a creative curse in Jason’s direction. Jason laughed as well. _Yeah, yeah, whatever,_ he signed back.

Ric looked at Clint, then Jason. “When did you learn sign language?”

“My little sister talks better with it than words.” Jason walked down the stairs to stand at the foot of Clint’s cot. “So, you having any hallucinations? Headaches? Thoughts of filling either of us with bullets?”

 _No, no, and get back to me on the last one._ Clint started to sit up again. Ric started to push Clint back again but Clint gently pushed him away. _If I’m sleeping this off, I want to do it in a real bed._

“You think you can make it upstairs?” Ric asked.

 _Yes. With help._ He looked at Ric, pouting.

Jason groaned and walked back to grab his helmet. “Wow, and I thought _you_ were bad with the puppy eyes, Grayson.”

“It’s one of our secret weapons,” Ric said, chuckling as he helped Clint stand. They started for the stairs, and Clint used the railing with one hand, the other over Ric’s shoulder. “Come on, one foot in front of the other.”

The three made their way upstairs. While Ric helped Clint settle down on the only mattress in the room, Jason turned to the panel and closed up the Batcave entrance. Clint flopped down on the mattress, groaned and turned onto his side and curled into a pillow.

“Aw, he really is just like a puppy,” Jason quipped as he stood next to Ric.

“Yeah, that’s an accurate statement,” Ric smirked, then motioned for Jason to walk with him into the kitchen. Once there, Ric headed to the coffee maker and pulled down two mugs.

Jason held up his hand. “No thanks. I should probably head out. Get some real sleep before patrol.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ric nodded, turning to lean against the counter. He stared at the floor while Jason rotated the helmet in his hand. They stood in silence, not looking at each other now that their mutual focus on Clint was gone.

Jason sighed and rolled his eyes, breaking the silence first. “This is ridiculous. Ric, I know you don’t want to be a part of our family anymore--”

“That’s not true.” Ric looked up, which stopped Jason from speaking. “I ran because Mister Wayne expected too much from me. He threw all of this life at me, and not only was it terrifying, but I couldn’t understand how I became this person you all knew.”

“It involves a lot of trauma that none of us would wish on anyone,” Jason said. “But that’s also what connected all of us; what drew us to one another and how we support the family when one member has to deal with it.” Jason snorted. “Hell, I’m the black sheep in this family, and I still come running if one of you needs me. It’s what family does.” Jason pointed to where the mattress was behind the pile of collapsed crates. “Just like how Clint came running the moment he knew you needed him.”

“Family.” Ric nodded, then gave Jason a half-smile. “Thank you for reaching out to him. I thought I was doing okay on my own but having my brother at my side really helped me get my head on straight.”

“That’s what brothers are for.” Jason extended a hand to Ric. “And when you’re ready, you’ve got three more waiting in the wings, ready to stand at your side however you want us to.”

Ric smiled fully at that, taking Jason’s hand and squeezing it. “I’m getting there.”

Jason squeezed Ric’s hand back, then pulled back. “Tell Clint I’ll talk to him in a couple days. But if either of you needs me, I’m just a text away.”

“Will do.”

Jason saw himself out, though Ric followed to lock the door behind him. He walked back to the kitchen and looked at the coffee maker, then stifled a yawn. He only got two hours of sleep, and knew he needed a few more before he had to go to work.

He made his way back to the bed, sitting on the edge and nudging Clint. “Move over.”

Clint groaned but moved closer to the wall. “You could sleep in the hammock,” he whined.

“This is my bed. You go sleep in the hammock.”

“You put me here.”

Ric huffed and curled up on his side, bringing a blanket up to cover them both. “Then shut up and go back to sleep,” Ric said as he curled behind Clint, a hand snaking around his best friend’s waist.

“Are you... spooning me?” Clint turned his head to look over his shoulder.

“Yeah, and I’m the big spoon. Now go to bed,” Ric growled in his ear. “And we’ll never speak about this, ever again.”

Clint smiled and shifted himself to fit against Ric better, cuddling the blanket against his chest. “Best brother ever,” he muttered as he closed his eyes.

_Two Weeks Later_

Clint stood back, admiring the archery work of his student. The long-haired thirty-something stood with almost perfect form as he lined up his final arrow. The student let out his breath slowly and released, hitting the target just on the edge of the bullseye.

“Great job, William.” Clint held a fist out for a bump, then went to retrieve the arrows. “And you said you were rusty.”

“Well, you are a good teacher.” William hung up the bow and turned back to Clint. “Where’d you say you learned this all again?”

“Carson’s Circus.” Clint dropped the arrows in the used bin to be checked for damage, then rejoined William. “They called me _The Amazing Hawkeye, World’s Greatest Archer_.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.” William reached for his jacket. “I remember taking a girlfriend on a date to the circus though. Haly’s, I think.”

Clint snorted. “Yeah, I’m familiar with them. We bunked near each other over the winter. My best friend came from that troupe.”

William looked at the window, then pointed at it while looking back to Clint. “You mean the Grayson who owns the place…?”

“Yeah, that’d be him.” Clint smiled, trying not to laugh. “If you sign up for a lesson when we open, you might catch him finishing his morning workout on the rings.”

“I may just do that.”

The door chimed as it opened, a man in a gray suit and sunglasses walking in. Clint casually looked over and froze for a half-second before putting a hand on William’s shoulder. “Well, it looks like my next appointment is here. If you feel you need to practice some more, just set up another private session. And rate us in the app.” He guided William to the door.

“I’ll do just that. Thanks for the lesson, Clint.”

“Anytime, Mr. Cobb.”

William gave Coulson a quick once-over before walking out of the gym. Clint waited until the client was halfway down the street before twisting the sign to the clock of when he’d be back, turned off the OPEN neon light, and locked the door.

Coulson removed his sunglasses during that time and took a good look at the gym. “You seem to be doing well here, Agent Barton. I feel a lot better helping you pass that trainer exam.”

“Thanks… I think?” Clint motioned for Coulson to follow him back to the door separating the living space from the gym. Ric was working on setting up their entertainment system since Clint had given up on it.

“Hey, Ric, this is Agent Coulson. Coulson, Ric Grayson.”

Coulson held out his hand, and Ric shook it. Clint let them speak techno-geek a minute—he had no idea what they were talking about but it had to do with the TV and the sound system—while he went into the kitchen to get a fresh cup of coffee and bottled water for his handler.

“So, what brings you down here for a visit, boss?” Clint tossed Coulson the water bottle. “I know my leave isn’t over yet.”

Coulson looked at Ric, then Clint while clearing his throat. Clint laughed. “Ric, can you… you know?”

Ric nodded slowly, then reached down to grab his sneakers by the new couch. “Yeah, I think I’ll go for a jog. A long one.” Ric hustled to put on his sneakers, snatch his phone off the kitchen island, and headed out.

“You do know I’m probably going to tell him what we talked about,” Clint said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Make sure he signs a nondisclosure agreement first.” Reaching into his jacket, Coulson pulled out a file folder. “We have a job for you. And before you say you’re still on leave—” Coulson held up a finger as Clint was about to protest, “—Director Fury has already agreed to tack the time spent onto the end of your leave, so you don’t lose a day.”

Clint huffed, then reached out to take the case file and open it on the kitchen island. “Alright, what do you need?”

“We have intel that the man who invaded Gotham City has friends within Hydra.” Coulson pointed at the surveillance photos of Bane talking to Baron Striker, one of Hydra’s known leaders. “From what we’ve intercepted so far, Bane has requested that Hydra assist in an assassination.”

Clint nodded, flipping through the transcript of a snagged phone call. “And who’s their target?”

“Bruce Wayne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end of the first book in the Lone Hawk series! I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. The next story I'm hoping to get started in a week or two, so if you subscribe to the series, AOC will let you know when it's up!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave me a comment on your overall feelings, things you liked, hated, things you want to see... I'm talkative. :)


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